As We Always Were
by RobotRollCall
Summary: Hydra has Bucky and Steve wants him back. Bucky doesn't think Steve used to be this big. After an escape he never thought would happen, he tries to get his head around it. Now Steve's the one worrying about him, and it's weird as hell. Bucky isn't sure where he fits in this picture. Does this new Steve even need him anymore? Missing rescue/recovery scenes from CA:TFA. No slash.
1. Steve: One

_A/N: This one takes place during Captain America: The First Avenger. It mostly centers around Steve breaking into the Hydra camp to save Bucky. The rescue and return to camp are just a quick little set of scenes, but there's a lot of wonderful emotion going on there that I wanted to unpack. As we see in the movie, Bucky comes around pretty quickly to the new Steve and he's cool with it, because Bucky is a great guy. But it had to be super-weird for him initially. Let's explore._

 _The title comes from a quote by_ _Clara Ortega: "To the outside world we all grow old. But not to brothers and sisters. We know each other as we always were." Isn't that lovely?  
_

 _I've borrowed a good chunk of dialogue from the movie. And the boys_ _ _don't belong to me, but I love them dearly.__

* * *

"Who're you supposed to be?" came a voice from below Steve's feet. An American voice. Steve's heart soared—he'd found them!

"Captain America," he told the voice. He felt a little silly, but it sounded impressive, and it certainly sounded better than just giving his name. It's not like anybody here knew who Steve Rogers was. He finally found the key he was looking for in the downed guard's pocket and moved for a set of stairs he spotted ahead in the shadows.

Getting down to the prison level was easy enough, and the guards must have been patrolling elsewhere at the moment—he didn't run into anyone, which gave him time to scan the rows of cages. There were…There were an awful lot of them. Hydra must have captured way more than just the majority of the 107th. He moved to the first cage in the row and unlocked the door. He scanned the inhabitants quickly, determining that Bucky wasn't among them. He didn't see him in any of the nearby cages either.

He passed the key to another solider who began to run along the row, unlocking cages as he went. Steve didn't want to shout for Bucky—he wasn't sure if he'd gotten all the guards or not, but he wasn't going to assume Bucky was in the crowd and he wasn't leaving until he laid eyes on him.

Fortunately, the English solider knew Bucky and told him where he'd gone. He didn't sound particularly hopeful that Steve would find him alive, but Steve ignored that, quickly giving directions and moving off in the direction the man had indicated.

"You sure you know what you're doing?" the American guy asked.

Steve gave some glib answer about knocking out Hitler and kept running. There wasn't time to stop and explain anything, and maybe if he acted like he knew what he was doing, he'd start to believe it. It had worked on stage. Sure, this was an actual battle, with actual Nazis with actual guns, but the principle had to be the same, right?

He took the first corridor he came to—if the isolation wing was for the prisoners, it had to be near to the prison for easy transport. The farther he got down the corridor, the more he felt he was right. It was cold, poorly lit and damp. The doors were thick and metal, and the air felt oddly muffled. If any place screamed isolation, this was it.

Before he could decide which door to check first, he saw movement up ahead. He jogged forward and saw a small figure—not a guard, based on the rumpled suit and hat. He was carrying a roll of papers tucked under his arm and a briefcase packed hastily enough that bits of paper were still sticking out the sides. He was obviously in a hurry.

Steve ran toward him, but stopped as he approached the open door the little man had come out of. He should chase him, but something he couldn't put a name to drew him into the room. As he stepped inside, he heard a sound, a voice too low to make out. He moved in farther, rounding a shelf, and froze for a moment as his stomach twisted itself into a knot. The voice was close enough to hear now— "Sergeant…three…two…five-five…seven…Barnes…"—and it was coming from Bucky, strapped to a gurney underneath some kind of machine on the other side of the room.

His voice was soft and flat and monotonous, like he wasn't paying attention to what he was saying, or maybe wasn't even aware that he was saying anything at all. Steve swallowed down a sick feeling in his gut and moved forward as Bucky started the broken recitation again. "Bucky?" he breathed as he approached the table. His friend fell silent.

"Oh my God," Steve whispered, very nearly turning around and vomiting on the floor. Bucky was dirty, thinner and paler than last time Steve had seen him, and, aside from a few cuts and bruises, he had no injuries that Steve could see. But he lay motionless on the table, eyes glazed over and drained and far away, staring dully at the ceiling. The gurney shook as Steve bumped into it, and Bucky lolled from side to side with the motion like a rag doll, making no move to steady himself or giving any indication that he was aware anything was happening at all. His eyes remained alarmingly empty.

Swallowing down his fear, Steve moved to undo the restraints. It seemed easier just to rip them off. He pulled away the ones on Bucky's legs first, giving himself a moment where he didn't have to look at that horrifyingly vacant expression. He didn't know what the hell they'd done to him, but he refused to believe he was too late. Bucky just needed help. Steve would get him out of here, the doctors back at camp would take care of him, and he'd be okay. Bucky was going to be okay. He'd be okay. _Please be okay_.

Steve turned back, ripping away the restraints across his chest, jostling both the table and his friend with the force of the movement, and this time, Bucky reacted.

"Is…is that…" he muttered, head lolling to the side, eyes searching.

Steve's heart leapt into his throat and he leaned in eagerly, grabbing Bucky's shoulders. "It's me, it's Steve," he said quickly.

For an agonizing second that felt like a day and a half, Bucky just stared blankly. Then his lips curled up slowly, like they were too tired to smile but just couldn't stop themselves, and _Bucky_ flickered back to life inside his eyes. "Steve?" he breathed, disbelieving, confused, delighted.

"Come on," Steve said, grinning, grabbing his other shoulder and starting to pull him up.

"Steve," Bucky said again happily, like he was confirming what he saw. He sounded and moved like he was falling-down-drunk, but Steve didn't care. He was still here. Steve would carry him out if he had to.

Steve pulled him off the table and onto his feet, keeping a strong grip on his shoulders as his feet hit the floor and he wobbled dangerously. Bucky clung on to Steve's arms like they were all that was keeping him up, bending over to catch his breath. They needed to get out of here, but Steve gave him the moment, partially to see if he could get his feet under him, and partially just to drink in the sight of the face he'd thought he'd never see again.

Steve swallowed down the memory of how it felt to think his best friend was dead, taking a moment to catch his breath and clapping a hand carefully to the back of Bucky's head, reassuring himself that he was alive and real and right here. "I thought you were dead," he breathed.

Bucky looked him up and down, like he was seeing him for the first time, and his eyebrows wrinkled in confusion. "I thought you were smaller," Bucky said, meeting his eyes again. He still looked completely out of it, and now, also a little scared.

Steve opened his mouth to reply and something exploded outside. Steve whipped his head back the way he'd come. If the base was self-destructing, that probably explained why the little man had been in such a hurry. He swallowed down the sick realization that the man had been in here, preparing to flee and fully intending to leave Bucky to die as the place burned down. His eyes caught the map on the wall as they swung back to Bucky, and he forced himself to look at it for a second, try to take it in. It was probably important.

Not as important as getting out of here, though. "Come on," he said, sliding Bucky's arm up over his shoulder and wrapping his arms around Bucky's waist. Bucky's feet stumbled as Steve moved forward, starting to hold his weight but struggling to keep up.

"What happened to you?" Bucky asked shakily, his other hand reaching up, grabbing onto Steve's sleeve.

"I joined the Army," Steve replied.

Bucky's hand pawed at his sleeve. "No," he mumbled. "What…" He was dragging his feet now, no longer trying to keep up, but actively trying to slow down. "What's going on?" he demanded.

Steve stopped and looked down at him (and wasn't that weird, looking _down_ at Bucky?), and immediately regretted his snappy reply. It had been automatic, a snarky quip in response to his friend's question. Something they did all the time. But right now wasn't 'all the time'. Steve was different, and Bucky was hurt and confused and the look in his eyes told Steve that he had no idea what was going on and that it scared him.

Steve propped Bucky up against the wall and took his face in both his hands. "Bucky," he said gently. "I know I look different, but it's still me. It's really me. Can you see me in here?"

Bucky blinked sad, sick eyes at him and looked, really _looked_ , into Steve's eyes. "Steve," he whispered. "You're really Steve."

Steve nodded.

"But how…" Bucky trailed off, looking him up and down again. "How did you…What happened?" One of his hands moved up from Steve's shoulder and pawed clumsily at the side of his face. "Are you really this big? I'm not…"

"You're not crazy, Buck," Steve assured him. He wondered angrily what they had done to his head—what they had done to make him wonder if what was happening was real. "I really am this big now."

"You weren't always," Bucky insisted. It almost wasn't a question.

"You're right, I wasn't." Something else exploded, sounding closer this time, and Steve put his hands back on Bucky's arms and pulled him up from where he'd slid down a little bit. "I promise I'll tell you what happened, but we need to be moving while I do that. Can you do that?" he asked. He knew Bucky's pride would rail against being carried out of here, but he was _this_ close to tossing him over his shoulder and running. He hadn't come this far to lose him now.

Bucky blinked a few times, clarity settling back into his eyes. "Yeah," he said, nodding. He straightened his shoulders. "Yeah, I can do that."

Steve smiled and clapped him on the shoulder, and Bucky managed to smile back. "Can you walk?" Steve asked.

In answer, Bucky pushed himself away from the wall and started moving toward the door. "Start talking, punk."

Steve moved through the door ahead of him—he was walking on his own, but not very steadily, and certainly not ready to fight anyone off. "You remember the fair?"

"Yeah. When you ditched to go try to sign up again. Don't tell me they actually took you?"

"Sort of," Steve replied. His eyes were constantly darting ahead and behind, looking for threats, then back to Bucky to make sure he was alright. "There was this doctor there, he asked me some questions and said he could give me a chance, so I took it. He was working with Howard Stark—"

"You met Howard Stark?" Bucky interrupted, soundly slightly awed.

"Yeah, he's a civilian consultant for this science division, and he had this machine and Erskine—the doctor—had this formula—"

"This is starting to sound like a science experiment," Bucky growled, putting a hand to the wall to steady himself as another explosion rocked the floor.

"I mean, I guess," Steve conceded. "Erskine injected me with his formula, and I got into the machine, and there was light and electricity and stuff, and it just made everything…grow, and I came out looking like this. Ow!"

Steve turned around. Bucky had slapped him on the back of the head and was now leaning on the wall, glaring at him. "What the hell, Steve?!" he demanded. "I'm gone for, what, like, an _hour_ , and you're signing up to be a freaking lab rat! I told you not to do anything stupid while I was gone, and what's the first thing you run out and do?! No, no, this, this isn't even stupid! This is _beyond_ stupid!" He slapped the back of his head again. "What the hell were you thinking?!"

"I was thinking this was a chance to finally serve my country, like everybody else was doing," Steve replied, resisting the urge to yell back. Bucky was just worried. He always worried about Steve. "Like you were doing," he finished quietly.

He held out a hand, and after a moment, Bucky accepted it, allowing Steve to get him moving again, although he still didn't look happy. "It's not like I jumped into it blind, Bucky," Steve continued. "I had to go through training, I had to be evaluated, and Erskine laid the whole thing out for me—repeatedly and at length—so I would know what was going on. He knew what he was doing, Howard knew what he was doing, and I trusted them."

"Did you know it would work?" Bucky asked.

Steve sighed. He knew the answer Bucky wanted, but he couldn't lie. "No."

Bucky shook his head. "Did it hurt?"

Steve almost wanted to laugh. Bucky had been captured, tortured, looked sick as a dog and was almost bent double, weaving back and forth as he walked, but all he was worried about right now was if his best friend had been hurt. It had only been a couple of months, but, oh, he'd missed Bucky. "A little," he responded. Some lies, he didn't mind telling.

"Is it permanent?" Bucky asked.

Steve looked back, making sure he was keeping up. "So far."

"You're an idiot, Steve," Bucky huffed. There was no heat in it.

Steve smiled. "Takes one to know one," he replied, holding open a door that should lead them up and out.

Bucky smacked him on the back of the head again as he stumbled through.


	2. Bucky: One

_Backing up a little bit here for Bucky's POV._

* * *

Bucky wasn't sure what just happened, but his face hurt and his head was spinning and he was on the floor. He should get up. Was he…he was in a fight? He should get up, but everything was tilting weirdly and he couldn't tell which way _was_ up. He grunted in pain as a boot connected with his stomach. Someone was yelling. He didn't think they were yelling at him. They were just yelling _near_ him. Yelling in some very colorful language. It was probably Dugan. Someone was yelling back in German. That was probably the guy that punched him.

He reached out a hand searching for something, anything, to pull himself up on. He didn't remember what exactly he'd done to get punched—his head felt like it was full of rocks and cobwebs and was possibly on fire—but he knew staying down would only get him hit again. He found something metal and started to pull, and if his head was full of rocks, his body must be too because this shouldn't be _that_ difficult. He thought he'd made it up to his knees when he opened his eyes again—yeah, that was Dugan, and there was Monty over there, and they both looked worried, and there was the guy that punched him, and…

He was on the floor again, and he thought he was bleeding now. How was he supposed to get up if the guy kept hitting him? That was just cheating.

A whistle sounded shrilly overhead, and when it was done, he was surprised his head hadn't exploded. "Your ability to work is the only thing keeping you alive, American," a thickly accented voice said from above him, emphasizing its point with another kick to his stomach. "If you're not ready to work in the morning, it will be the last sunrise you see. Get him out of here."

Strong hands wrapped around his arms and he lashed out—not particularly effectively, but he hit something. "Easy, Sarge, I gotcha," a deep voice said.

"Sorry," he muttered. Colors were starting to swirl together, but they sort of looked like Dugan and Monty.

"One foot in front of the other," Monty's softer voice said, slipping underneath his other shoulder to prop him up. "That's the way," he encouraged. "You've got to hold on, old man."

Bucky's feet were moving, but he wasn't holding any of his own weight at all, and he opened his eyes in alarm when he felt himself sliding back towards the ground. "Wha's…" Oh. They were back in the cage already.

"Easy, Sarge," another voice said. Gabe, he thought. "You're gonna be okay. Have some of this water, alright? Then you can get some sleep." Something cold pressed against his mouth and he drank it eagerly once he remembered how to swallow.

"Thanks," he managed. The water had cooled the burning in his throat, but the rest of his body felt like he'd been set on fire.

"Bucky, can you look at me real quick?"

Bucky grunted at the hands on his face—they felt wonderfully cool, but they were pulling at his eyelids. His eyes kept shutting without asking. He opened them, blinking until he thought he saw Morita. Morita looked worried too. "Why's everyone keep lookin' at me like that?" he slurred.

Morita smiled, but not with his eyes. "You're sick," he said. He dabbed something under his nose, where Bucky was pretty sure the blood was coming from. "You're not looking so good. What happened?"

Bucky wasn't sure, but when Dugan answered he realized the question wasn't directed at him. "He's been working slow all day—barely moving this afternoon, and then he just fell over and didn't get up. Fritz started layin' into him and woulda killed him if the whistle hadn't gone," he spat.

"His fever's worse than it was yesterday," Morita said, hands pressed to the sides of Bucky's neck. "He's burning up. If this doesn't come down…" He sighed. "They didn't give us any food tonight, did they?"

"Couldn't eat anything anyway," Bucky said, startling Morita and surprising a small chuckle out of him.

"Probably not," he agreed. Bucky's eyes were slipping shut, and he didn't realize he was shaking until Dugan's jacket was settling over him.

"Mmm," Bucky groaned, trying and failing to swat it away. "No, no, you…you need that." Forget being set on fire, it was freezing in here. Last thing they needed was someone else getting sick.

"Not as much as you do."

"Hang in there, Sarge," Gabe said softly, settling down next to him. He was nice and warm. "Don't clock out on us yet."

Bucky wanted to say something, to let him know he wasn't going to leave them there, but the next thing he knew, someone was pulling at his arm and everyone was yelling.

"Sarge, you gotta get up," Gabe hissed.

Up. Right, right, 'cause they were gonna…He tried to push himself up, but he couldn't find his arms. His eyes were no help in finding them either—everything was swirling together and spinning, and whoever was yelling wasn't helping.

He found one of his arms just as Gabe's hand was yanked away from it and he crashed back onto the floor. He forced his eyes open again. There were Monty and Morita. Dugan being held back by two masked guards. Gabe and his little French friend. And there, big Nazi guy with a gun.

He wished Steve was here. Steve and his ma and his pop and Becky—just so he could see them one more time. Tell them he was sorry he wasn't coming home. But he was glad they weren't. This way they'd remember him how he used to be, not this broken shell he was now.

With his last remaining burst of strength, Bucky grabbed the bars behind him and pulled himself unsteadily to his feet. If he was going to die, he wasn't going to do it in a ball on the floor. He nodded at his team. Dugan tipped his hat. "Do it," Bucky said.

"A moment, Commandant," came a small, nasal voice from behind his would-be-executioner. "If you are prepared to dispose of this one anyway, might I have him? I could get a bit more use out of him before he goes." The Commander looked uncertain—he really wanted to shoot him, Bucky could tell. "If it sways your decision at all," the little man continued. "What I have in mind is going to hurt."

"Take him, then," the Commander said. Two guards came forward and grabbed his arms. "The rest of you, get to work!"

His friends shuffled slowly toward the factory floor, watching him with no less sorrow in their eyes than when they thought he was going to be shot. Bucky tried to keep up a brave face for them until he was dragged out of sight. He knew why they were looking at him like that. While the name 'isolation ward' might sound like where people would be taken to recover, no one the little man took ever came back.

He didn't know what they were going to do to him, but he almost wished they'd just shot him and gotten it over with.

He wasn't sure how long it took to get to the isolation ward. He thought he might have passed out on the way. His eyes couldn't keep track of the floor and the walls as they moved, and his head still felt like someone was driving a railroad spike into it. He was reasonably sure he'd thrown up on someone's feet. Not his, because they were dragging along on the floor behind him. But someone's.

He woke up strapped to a gurney. It was…kind of nice to be lying down. The room was still spinning and he would have just fallen over if he'd been upright anyway. The little man was hovering at his side with a clipboard. "Good morning, Sergeant," he said. "My name is Doctor Zola. You and I will be working together quite closely for the rest of your life, which, at the rate you're going, isn't going to be very much longer. Let's see if we can't fix you up enough to be of some use before you go, hmm?"

He felt his sleeve being rolled up and a needle jabbing into the crook of his elbow. "That's going to take a minute to kick in," Zola said. "Why don't you tell me about yourself?" he asked. "Where are you from? America, obviously, but which part?"

Bucky tried to glare at him, but he had turned on some sort of light above him, and it hurt his eyes. "Barnes. Sergeant," he recited. "Three-two-five-five-seven."

Zola sighed. "Yes, I know that, thank you. It's on your dog tag. Are you going to answer the question?"

"Barnes. Sergeant. Three-two-five-five-seven." He had no desire to share anything personal with the little scientist. It may seem innocuous, but he didn't know what this guy thought was important. They were just going to kill him anyway, why should he play nice?

"I am not asking because I want to be your friend, Sergeant Barnes," Zola snapped. "This is for research purposes. Surely you can appreciate the need for accurate data in science?"

"Barnes. Sergeant. Three-two-five-five-seven." He knew it by heart, which made it easier to say—especially now, when his brain was foggy and heavy. He didn't have to try to think of anything else to say. Besides, it sounded like it was starting to annoy Zola, and Bucky was fine with that.

"As you wish," Zola sighed. "I don't know why so many of you insist on being so stubborn. It's not as though it's helping anything."

Bucky twitched. The spot in his arm where the needle had gone in was starting to itch. The itch was climbing up his arm and out into the rest of his body, and it was really, really cold. Something hummed above him, and he cracked his eyes enough to see a large machine had been pulled closer and was hovering over the table. It was making the humming noise, and maybe it was his imagination, but it felt like the humming was making the itching in his veins spread faster. He writhed in the straps holding him in place, groaning as the humming encouraged the pounding in his head. The cold and the itching reached his brain, and he thought he might have started screaming before he passed out.

The next time he woke up, his head felt remarkably clearer. It was still freezing, though. "Feeling better?" Zola asked. Since he could open his eyes without splitting his head in two, Bucky was going to go with 'yes'. Although, he couldn't think of a reason they'd want to fix him up. Not any good ones, anyway. He glared at Zola in response.

"I'll take the glare as a yes," Zola said, making a mark on his clipboard. "In case you're curious, we haven't done anything particularly interesting yet. Just some antibiotics to keep you from dying. Well," he amended. "To keep you from dying right away, anyway. I don't think there's enough of you left to go to the trouble of actually curing you, but you'll keep long enough to add to the data set this way. A dead test subject is no good to anyone."

He moved away, busying himself with something at a table Bucky couldn't quite turn far enough to see. "You're quite fortunate, you know," he told him. "We're far enough along in this process that you'll probably survive the application of the formula." He returned with a syringe in his hand, flicking the glass casing to get the bubbles out. "A good many of your predecessors died to get us this far. Of course, what happens if you do survive is the interesting part."

He moved forward with the needle and Bucky instinctively tried to pull away, even though there was nowhere to go. "What are you doing to me?"

"Ah, he speaks!" Zola said. He smiled, not at all pleasantly. "We are experimenting, Sergeant. We won't really know what we're doing until we see if it works, will we?" He stabbed the needle into Bucky's arm more forcefully than strictly necessary. "This will probably hurt, by the way. And if you feel the need to vomit, do turn your head—I'd hate for you to choke."

Whatever he'd stuck in his arm was a lot faster acting than last time, and he was right—it did hurt. His blood boiled in his veins and he screamed. It took him a long time to pass out.

He'd gotten good at keeping time without windows in the cage, but there had always been the work shifts to count with. Here, he drifted in and out of consciousness, and his head felt foggy, but in a different way than when he'd been sick. Sometimes there were needles in his arms when he woke up—it took him longer to realize than it should have that he hadn't eaten anything since before he'd gotten sick, but he still didn't feel hungry. Zola must really want whatever he was getting out of this test if he was going to the trouble of feeding him intravenously. There was probably other stuff in it too. His arms always felt full of lead, his stomach always felt like snakes were roiling around inside of it, and Zola kept sticking him with things and then taking his blood. He seemed awfully pleased that Bucky was still alive. Apparently, no one had gotten this far yet.

Zola talked an awful lot. He still hadn't gotten around to telling Bucky what he was doing to him. Bucky still didn't feel the need to answer any of the questions he asked. Zola was always badgering him to tell him what hurt, what felt better, what felt worse any time he did something. Just to piss him off, Bucky only ever answered with, "Barnes. Sergeant. Three-two-five-five-seven."

After the second time Zola had injected him with the stuff that made him feel like his blood was boiling and was full of shards of glass, he turned on the humming machine overhead. Whatever the machine was, it definitely sped up anything Zola injected him with. Bucky learned that pretty quickly. It hurt like hell, but he never passed out—his brain would go all fuzzy and he would drift for a while until he slammed abruptly back into reality where it was cold and dark and everything hurt.

Zola never took him off the table, but after a few rounds with the mystery injection, he started having some of the soldiers come in and beat him. Zola would take note of who hit him and where, take photographs of the bruising and cuts, and check on them regularly. Bucky finally had a few hours where his head was clear and figured out that he was testing how fast he healed. Why, God only knew. He wondered if the shots and the humming thing were supposed to make it better or worse.

The longer he was there, the more often Zola injected him with the stuff. The more of that stuff was in his body, the longer and further he drifted, and if he drifted too far, he started to see things. Things he was mostly sure weren't real. It was getting hard to tell. He'd see home and his family and Steve, but everything was wrong and sad and broken. He'd see the war, with Gabe and Dugan, but it was too loud, too bloody, too bright and hot and on fire. He'd see the cage and the factory, and it felt like it never ended, the work and the pain and the war machines. Sometimes it all blurred together—his sister was working in the factory and the guards were yelling at her, then she was on the table and Zola was cutting her open; Steve was on the battlefield, lost and torn to pieces; Gabe was in New York, having tea with his ma, but they were bleeding and crying and laughing. Everything was…everything was wrong. It was almost a relief to come back to the pain and the little scientist and the lab.

Sometimes he drifted somewhere in the middle—not in the lab, not anywhere else—and he thought he could feel people moving around him. He thought maybe he would start up his recitation when he did. He wasn't sure. He wasn't sure of much of anything, really. Pain would occasionally come shooting through, dragging him partially back to reality, but never all the way. He wasn't sure where he was the rest of the time.

Zola had been there…it hadn't been too long ago. Now he was back. Or someone was back. Someone was moving around the room. They might have bumped his table. Distantly, he felt someone touching him, and he braced himself for another barrage of fists. They didn't come, but there was a noise that was different. He was moving now, more than he should have. Whoever it was was up by his face now, undoing the straps across his chest.

He blinked a few times, trying to pull his brain back out of wherever it was floating. It took a lot of effort, but he was pretty sure he was seeing the room now, someone hovering over him. Someone who didn't feel dangerous. He couldn't really see him, but he was able to roll his head a little in the guy's general direction. "Is...is that…?" He wasn't sure who he thought it was, but his eyes rolled around, trying to find his face.

A warm hand gripped his shoulder. "It's me, it's Steve," a very familiar voice said.

Bucky blinked, and he finally saw him, and, yeah, there he was. It was Steve. "Steve?" He shouldn't have been here. At least, Bucky didn't think so. But he _had_ wanted to see him. Steve always knew when Bucky needed him. He was so glad to see him. And it looked like he really was here.

Steve smiled down at him, relieved. Had he been worried? Oh, yeah, he probably still looked like crap, didn't he? Gabe and Morita had been worried too. "Come on," Steve said, putting both hands around Bucky's shoulders and pulling him up.

"Steve," Bucky said again, just making sure. He was so happy to see him. He'd missed the little punk.

Steve's hands were on his arms and suddenly he was vertical. Vertical and a little surprised the sudden motion hadn't made him throw up. The snakes in his stomach didn't like it when he moved too quickly.

He was on his feet, but Bucky wouldn't exactly say he was standing yet. Steve kept his hands on his shoulders, and Bucky clung on to his arms—they were all that was keeping him up right now. The fog was starting to clear in his brain, though. He just needed a minute.

As his head and his vision cleared, Bucky looked up at Steve, who still looked kind of worried. He—wait, he looked _up_ at Steve? That…he didn't think that was right.

Steve swallowed and sort of smiled, clapping an awfully big hand to the back of Bucky's head. "I thought you were dead," he breathed.

Bucky's eyebrows drew together, looking his friend up and down. This was, no, this was…something wasn't right. "I thought you were smaller," he replied.

Steve started to answer, then whipped his head away. There was a loud noise somewhere, but Bucky was too busy trying to figure out what was going on to care. Steve should _not_ be this big. Also, Steve should not be in Germany…or Italy, or wherever the hell he was. Europe. It wasn't America, which was where he left him, and why the hell was he so tall?

"Come on," Steve said. He slid one of the hands he had on Bucky's arm under his shoulder and wrapped the other one around his waist to keep him up, and just started going. Bucky stumbled along in surprise, his feet starting to take some of his own weight now, but not nearly fast enough to keep up with Steve, and that was all kinds of wrong.

He reached up a hand to grab Steve's arm, trying to anchor himself. "What happened to you?" he asked, a little shakier than he would have liked.

"I joined the Army," Steve quipped, and it was so something he would say, but it just freaked Bucky out, because he sounded and acted just like his best friend, but everything was wrong and he shouldn't be here, and what the hell had Zola done to his head?!

"No," Bucky mumbled, trying to get his feet under him enough to slow down. "What…" He _had_ wanted to see Steve. He really had, but this, whatever Zola was doing, this was just sick, and he didn't want anything to do with it. "What's going on?" he demanded, trying to pull away.

They stopped by the door and Steve looked at him, his face suddenly sorrowful. He let go of Bucky's arms and put his back to the wall, where he was able to keep himself on his feet. Steve's hands moved, one covering each of Bucky's cheeks, and he tilted Bucky's face up to look him in the eye.

"Bucky," he said slowly. "I know I look different, but it's still me. It's really me. Can you see me in here?"

Bucky blinked up at him. He'd know that voice anywhere, those soft, gentle tones Steve always used when he really meant something. His eyes were joyful and fearful and looking at him with that compassion that just _screamed_ 'Steve', and Bucky could see the memories of schoolyard games and fights in alleyways, sketchbooks and double dates and newspapers in shoes and a tiny apartment, safety and home and the brother he'd left to go off to war, all of it dancing behind the stormy blue of his eyes, and he knew it was real. Zola couldn't fake this. This was really… "Steve. You're really Steve."

Steve nodded.

"But how?" Bucky's voice faltered. He knew it was him, but…He looked his now-enormous friend up and down. "How did you…" He didn't even know how to ask the question. "What happened?" he asked again. His hand was still on Steve's shoulder—and there was a _lot_ of muscle under there—and he moved it up to touch Steve's face. "Are you really this big? I'm not…"

"You're not crazy, Buck," Steve said gently, and that, that knack that Steve always had for knowing what Bucky needed, that was just one more assurance that this really was his best friend. "I really am this big now."

"You weren't always," Bucky said. He was…he was mostly sure that was true. He just needed Steve to say it.

"You're right," Steve said with a smile. "I wasn't."

Bucky nodded. Good. Well, maybe not _good_ —the punk had some explaining to do—but at least Bucky's head was where it was supposed to be.

There was another loud noise, which Bucky registered this time as an explosion. He slid a little bit down the wall and Steve took hold of his arms again, pulling him up.

"I promise I'll tell you what happened, but we need to be moving while I do that. Can you do that?" He eyed Bucky, as if assessing his ability to walk, and Bucky straightened his shoulders.

"Yeah," Bucky replied. Now that he knew the place was coming apart, he agreed with Steve's earlier urgency. "Yeah, I can do that."

Steve grinned and clapped him on the shoulder, and Bucky smiled back. Freakishly huge or not, it _was_ good to see him again.

"Can you walk?"

Bucky pushed himself away from the wall. He was a little wobbly still, but adrenaline was accompanying his newly-returned clarity, and that would get him going. He moved toward the door. "Start talking, punk," he said, cocking an eyebrow at Steve.

Steve moved through the door ahead of him, scanning the hallway for threats. Walking, Bucky could handle. Fighting off Nazis was probably not in the cards just yet. Although, it was seriously weird having Steve be the one out front to do that.

"You remember the fair?" Steve asked, moving forward and beckoning for Bucky to follow.

"Yeah." Bucky thought for a moment. "When you ditched to go try to sign up again." Disbelief bubbled up in his chest. "Don't tell me they actually _took_ you?"

"Sort of," Steve replied. He sounded slightly distracted, eyes darting up and down the hallway, but Bucky would give him that. Imminent threat of death and all. "There was this doctor there," Steve continued. "He asked me some questions and he said he could give me a chance, so I took it. He was working with Howard Stark—"

"You met Howard Stark?" Bucky cut in, impressed.

"Yeah, he's a civilian consultant for this science division," Steve explained, sounding annoyingly casual about it. Oh, sure, just palling around with a genius billionaire. No biggie. "And he had this machine and Erskine—the doctor—had this formula—"

Bucky growled. "This is starting to sound like a science experiment." Another explosion rocked the floor, and he put a hand to the wall to steady himself. What had the stupid little punk done while Bucky was gone?

"I mean, I guess," Steve agreed. He had stopped along with Bucky and subconsciously gone into watch-dog mode, blocking Bucky's body with his own and looking up and down the hall for threats. Bucky used to do that with him after fights in back alleys. "Erskine injected me with his formula, and I got into the machine, and there was light and electricity and stuff, and it just made everything…grow, and I came out looking like this. Ow!"

Steve turned around, surprised that Bucky had slapped the back of his head. Bucky was glaring, furious. "What the hell, Steve?!" he demanded. "I'm gone for, what, like, an _hour_ , and you're signing up to be a freaking lab rat?!" How could he be so stupid?! Bucky had just been a lab rat. It sucked. And Steve was _volunteering_?!

"I told you not to do anything stupid while I was gone, and what's the first thing you run out and do?! No," Bucky shook his head. "No, this, this isn't even stupid!" he sputtered, so angry he was stumbling over his words. "This is _beyond_ stupid!" He reached out and slapped his head again with all the force he could muster. "What the hell were you thinking?!"

"I was thinking this was my chance to finally serve my country, like everybody else was doing," Steve said, infuriatingly calmly. He shuffled his feet a little, looking at Bucky with those ridiculous puppy-dog eyes that had, somehow, only gotten more powerful along with his change in size. "Like you were doing," he finished softly.

That guilty, desperate-for-Bucky's-approval look on his face made him look so much like he was ten years old again that Bucky felt bad—a little—for yelling at him. Steve held out a hand hopefully, and, sighing inwardly, Bucky took it, allowing Steve to get him moving again.

"It's not like I jumped into it blind, Bucky," Steve continued. "I had to go through training, I had to be evaluated, and Erskine laid the whole thing out for me—repeatedly and at length—so I would know what was going on. He knew what he was doing, Howard knew what he was doing, and I trusted them."

Bucky really did hate yelling at Steve. And he knew, he knew Steve wasn't stupid. Most of the time. It was just the idea of some scientist poking and prodding at Steve, and Steve being so desperate to prove himself that he signed up for it…He sighed. What if something had gone wrong? "Did you know it would work?" Bucky asked, wrapping a hand around his middle where the snakes had started churning again.

Steve sighed, and Bucky knew his answer wasn't going to be the one he wanted. "No."

Bucky shook his head. Idiot. "Did it hurt?" His own stint as a lab rat had been hell on earth, and he was more than ready to knock the teeth out of anyone who inflicted that on Steve.

Steve smiled to himself and Bucky wished he was close enough to slap again. He knew what Steve was thinking, and, yes, he was the POW here, and, yes, he was having a little trouble walking in a straight line, but he was walking, and they weren't talking about him right now anyway. "A little," Steve replied.

Bucky didn't buy that for a minute, and decided he needed to have some words with this Erskine when he met him. "Is it permanent?" he wondered.

Steve looked back at him to make sure he was keeping up, something else Bucky realized he used to do all the time. "So far," he replied.

"You're an idiot, Steve," Bucky huffed. It was true, but he said it fondly.

Steve grinned. "Takes one to know one," he answered with a smirk. He peered through a door, then seemed to decide it was the one he wanted and held it open.

Bucky smacked him on the head again as he stumbled through it. He was an idiot, but he was alive and he was here, and Bucky really was glad to see him again.


	3. Steve: Two

The increasing frequency and force of the explosions told Steve that going down and back out the way he came was not an option. He figured the roof was their best shot. Very unlikely there'd be any sort of transport, but they could get up and away from the fire, then down and out.

They came out onto a walkway high above the factory floor. Another explosion rocked the building, the wave of heat sending them stumbling back. Bucky was using the handrails to pull himself along, but he was keeping on his feet and keeping pace with Steve. They turned and headed up another flight of stairs, heading for a bridge Steve could see a few feet down the walkway with a door on the other side.

"Captain America, how exciting!" a voice called from across the chasm. Steve looked up to see the little man from the laboratory and a tall man in a long leather coat. He was smirking at them, thoroughly unconcerned by the inferno below them. It had to be Schmidt.

He handed his briefcase to the little man, walking back towards the bridge. "I am a great fan of your films," he said with a smile, gesturing at his chest.

Steve stepped onto the bridge, his face set into hard lines. This was the head of Hydra. This was who had gotten Erskine killed. This was who had tortured and nearly killed Bucky.

"So, Doctor Erskine managed it after all," Schmidt said, walking slowly out to meet him. "Not exactly an improvement, but, still," he said conversationally, tilting his head slightly as if deciding Steve would do. "Impressive."

He was close enough now, and Steve lunged forward, his fist connecting with Schmidt's face. Schmidt staggered back a step, putting a hand to his eye. "You have no idea," Steve growled.

The skin around his eye where Steve had hit him looked… _something_ was wrong with it, and Schmidt's amused smirk turned predatory. "Haven't I?" he asked. His fist shot forward and Steve instinctively pulled up his shield. Schmidt's fist hit it with a resounding clang, denting the metal.

Steve reached for his gun and Schmidt struck out and knocked it away, down into the flames below. Steve rocked back and landed on his back, waiting until Schmidt stepped forward again and kicking him with both feet squarely in the chest. Being on the losing end of things most of his life, he knew a lot of moves to use from the ground. Now he had the power to make them work.

Schmidt went flying back as Steve got to his feet, and he felt the bridge moving underneath him. The little man in the hat had pulled some sort of lever, separating the bridge and pulling him and Schmidt back to opposing sides. Steve didn't take his eyes off Schmidt, but he was aware of Bucky leaning on the rails at his side as he came to a stop.

"No matter what lies Erskine told you," Schmidt shouted, gesturing at himself. "You see I was his greatest success!" He reached up to his neck and started pulling, and Steve's mouth dropped open in disgust as Schmidt started peeling the skin away from his face, revealing the bright red flesh underneath. He flung his head back dramatically, emphasizing the gaping hole where his nose should have been and baring his bright white teeth.

"You don't have one of those, do you?" Bucky asked. Steve shook his head, eyes still on Schmidt.

"You are deluded, Captain," Schmidt said, drawing his skinless eyebrows together. "You pretend to be a simple soldier." He tossed the useless skin down into the fire below him. "But in reality, you are just afraid to admit that we have left humanity behind!" He sneered contemptuously, turning away from the bridge.

Steve just kept staring, trying to process what he was seeing and glad in a way he'd never been before that Erskine had perfected the serum before offering it to him.

"Unlike you, I embrace it proudly!" Schmidt declared, grabbing his bag back from the little man. "Without fear!"

"Then how come you're running?" Steve demanded as Schmidt stepped back into an elevator.

Schmidt simply smiled and shut the door, disappearing.

The heat of another explosion forced them back away from the railing, and Steve remembered the urgency of their situation. "Come on!" he said, grabbing Bucky's arm. There was one more flight of stairs, then a beam across to a door on the other side. It was their only option now. "Let's go. Up."

He jogged up the stairs, Bucky close behind. That beam looked a lot less sturdy now that he was up here looking at it, but there weren't a whole lot of other choices at this point. "Come on, let's go," he said to Bucky, pushing for him to climb over the rail he was leaning against. "One at a time."

He kept a hold of Bucky until his feet were planted firmly on the other side of the railing, reluctantly letting go as he started to move. He really hoped Bucky's balance would hold him all the way to the other side. He would have felt a lot better putting Bucky on his back and making the crossing himself, but the beam never would have taken the weight of both of them at once.

Bucky inched his way across, keeping upright as Steve willed him not to lose his footing. The beam shifted, shaking Bucky with it, but he kept his balance, speeding up as the beam continued to creak and shift. He'd made it a little over halfway when it groaned, and he took a long step forward and jumped as the beam fell away from beneath him. Steve watched in horror, unable to breathe until Bucky slammed into the rails on the other side, looping his arms through the bars. It looked like it took a lot of strength, but Bucky managed to pull himself up and over.

Bucky leaned on the bars, catching his breath and staring down at the fire and fallen beam in dismay. "There's gotta be a rope or something!" he called desperately, looking back up at Steve.

"Just go! Get outta here!" Steve yelled, waving at him to run for the door. Maybe he could find another way out, but he hadn't come this far to let Bucky die so close to freedom.

"No, not without you!" Bucky yelled back, slamming his hand on the rail. He'd never leave Steve behind. Steve didn't know why he'd thought that would work. Frustration welled up in his chest, even as he looked around for an option. If Bucky got himself blown up because he was waiting on Steve, Steve was gonna kill him.

He looked at the railing that had bent outwards as the beam tore away. Okay. That…Okay, maybe not an awesome plan, but there sure weren't any of those around. He was running out of time, and if he died, so did Bucky. He grabbed the rail and bent it further out, marveling in the back of his head that he could actually do that, giving himself some room. Backing up, he eyed the grating beneath him and the empty space in front of him, calculating. It was kind of far. It was really far. He could do this. He had to do this.

Bucky realized what he was about to do and was staring at him like he was crazy. Steve took a breath, shaking his shoulders. Bucky was right. He was crazy. This was a monumentally bad idea. Before he could talk himself out of it and get them both killed, he took a giant step forward, then another and another, running at the opening.

He launched himself out into space, arms whirling as if he could propel himself forward. Another explosion rocked the building, and flames and heat billowed around him, forcing his eyes shut and surrounding him. He had no idea where he was or how far he had to go, then he felt himself slamming into hot metal. His arms shot out to catch it and hands were pulling at his arms, keeping him from going down as he failed to catch his footing on the grating. Bucky held on and Steve pulled and then he was going up and over the rail.

He leaned on the railing a moment, catching his breath. He'd actually made it. "That was amazing," Bucky panted from beside him, slapping him on the back.

"Thought you were gonna say that was stupid," Steve, turning to him with a smile.

"It was definitely stupid," Bucky agreed. "Figured you knew that already."

Steve huffed a laugh and stood up, moving for the door. It led to a small platform on the outside of the building and a lot of stairs. A lot of stairs. But they went all the way to the ground, and that's all they needed. He could see the prisoners from before running into the woods. It looked like most of them had made it. He shook his head in disbelief. This had actually…This had actually worked.

"Let's go, Buck," he said, wrapping an arm around Bucky's back and heading for the stairs.


	4. Bucky: Two

Things were exploding louder and more often now, and Bucky was pretty sure it was the building shaking and not just him. Despite having been here for…however long he'd been here, he had no idea where they were going. The prisoners didn't exactly get to just wander around. Steve looked like he had a plan, though, and Bucky was content to follow him.

They were up on one of the catwalks high above the factory floor. While it was gratifying to see the place burning to ashes, Bucky would really have preferred it if they could get outside before it did that. A wave of heat shot up from the flames below, and he stumbled back, shielding his eyes. Steve headed up another flight of stairs and Bucky followed, using the handrails to keep himself up. Adrenaline was doing wonders for keeping him running, but it wasn't being super helpful as far as balance went yet.

He could see the bridge Steve was aiming for up ahead. "Captain America!" a sharply accented voice called across the chaos. "How exciting!" Steve stopped and Bucky leaned against the railing beside him, breathing hard. Captain America? What…He looked at Steve, who didn't look confused. Steve, who was carrying a shield with stars and stripes on it. Okay, so, Steve was Captain America. Whatever that meant. What the hell?

The man walked away from the door he'd been heading towards, shoving something in his arms at Zola. Bucky thought he recognized him—he'd seen him around the factory floor, and maybe in the lab a couple of times? The lab was fuzzy, but he still rang a bell. This was the guy who ran the place. "I am a great fan of your films," he declared, addressing Steve as he walked out onto the bridge. Films? Seriously, what the hell? Bucky shot a sideways glance at Steve, who was glaring daggers at the other guy. Okay, so there was some history here. What in the hell had Bucky missed?

"So, Doctor Erskine managed it after all," the man continued. Okay, Erskine. This guy seemed to know about Steve's stint as a guinea pig. "Not exactly an improvement, but, still…" He shrugged. He sounded annoyingly casual, considering the environment. "Impressive," he finished, looking Steve up and down.

"You have no idea," Steve growled, surging forward and punching the guy in the face. Of course Steve punched the guy. Even when he'd been tiny, Steve's solution to way more problems than it should have been was to punch someone. Although…given how strong he'd seen Steve was now, he was a little surprised the guy was still on his feet.

The guy looked up, looking more pissed off than actually injured. He put a hand to the eye Steve had hit, and…oh. Oh, that wasn't right.

"Haven't I?" the man hissed, gloved fist shooting forward. Steve's shield shot up to block it, and Bucky's eyes widened at the noise as it dented the metal. Okay. So maybe this guy hadn't fallen over because he was some sort of super-strong too? Had Erskine made _this_ guy too?

Behind the shield, Steve went for his gun, but the other guy knocked it away, sending Steve to the ground. Instinctively, Bucky moved forward to help, but Steve was already bouncing back, kicking the guy in the chest and sending him flying backwards.

The rail Bucky was leaning on shuddered, and he felt himself being pulled back as the bridge started to move. It separated in the middle, pulling Steve toward him and the other guy back toward Zola. He moved his hands along the sliding rail to keep his balance and stood next to Steve, who hadn't broken eye contact with the other guy.

The other guy pointed at himself, shouting across the chasm at Steve. "No matter what lies Erskine told, you see I was his greatest success!" Okay, so Erskine _did_ make this guy. He was going to have to have a talk with Steve about the kind of friends he made when Bucky wasn't around.

The man on the other side of the bridge reached up to his neck, and Bucky felt his mouth dropping open in horror as the guy started _peeling his own freaking skin off_. He'd forgotten about the snakes in his stomach, but they were back with a vengeance now, and he swallowed down the urge to be sick as he watched the man pull the last of the skin away, leaving nothing but bright red flesh stretched tight over his skull.

"You don't have one of those, do you?" he asked Steve. Steve didn't take his eyes off Skull-Face, but shook his head, the revulsion on his face telling Bucky that this was new to him too. Good. Good. Giant, strong Steve, he could wrap his head around, but creepy skull monster Steve would be a little much.

"You are deluded, Captain," Skull-Guy shouted. "You pretend to be a simple soldier, but in reality, you are just afraid to admit that we have left humanity behind!" He tossed what used to be his face down into the fire below and sneered. "Unlike you, I embrace it proudly! Without fear!" He grabbed his stuff back from Zola. He seemed to enjoy hearing himself talk as much as the little scientist did. They were made for each other.

"Then how come you're running?" Steve demanded. That's good, Steve, taunt the big bad guy. Bucky had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. The little punk hadn't changed at all.

Red-Face just smirked and stepped into an elevator, disappearing.

A fireball burst up into the air as something else exploded below them, and they backed away from the railing. "Come on!" Steve said, grabbing at Bucky's arm. "Let's go." He'd been looking for a new escape route, and Steve turned him toward another set of stairs he hadn't noticed. "Up," Steve said.

He jogged up the stairs, Bucky pulling himself up behind him. The threat of impending death was really helping with the adrenaline, but the heat and the smoke were making it hard to breathe. When they hit the top, he leaned heavily against the railing, looking down at the beam that was obviously Steve's planned method of crossing. This was going to be fun.

"Come on, let's go," Steve said again, and Bucky felt himself suddenly being pushed over the railing. "One at a time." Rather than argue, he let Steve manhandle him over, secretly grateful for the hands he kept on his arms as he steadied himself of the other side. Okay. Balancing. He could do this.

He could feel Steve watching him as he moved out slowly onto the beam. Was this what it was like being Steve, back home when Bucky was always checking up on him? It was…well, okay, it was actually kind of comforting, but it was also annoying.

He kept his mind on keeping steady, freezing as the beam lurched beneath him. He waved his arms in a desperate attempt to stabilize himself, surprising himself a little when he didn't go over. He inched forward, stepping down over a joint and it lurched again, continuing to groan dangerously after it stilled. He was a little over halfway across, and he could feel it straining beneath his feet. Suddenly it was moving down, and he took a long step forward and pushed off the falling beam, launching himself toward the railing on the other side. He slammed into it painfully, scrabbling with his arms to keep his grip and using everything he had to pull himself up and over. Adrenaline could only do much, and he knew if he kept hanging he'd go down.

He leaned on the bars, catching his breath, looking down at the flames where the beam had fallen in alarm. He looked up at Steve, back on the other side, who looked just as worried as he did. "There's gotta be a rope or something!" he yelled. He had to get Steve over here.

"Just go!" Steve ordered, waving at the door behind him. "Get outta here!"

Anger surged up in Bucky's chest and he pushed himself up straighter. "No! Not without you!" he yelled back. Maybe Steve _was_ stupid. No way in hell Bucky was going to leave him here to die. He should know better than that.

He could see Steve looking around. There was nothing over here that Bucky could use to get him across. He saw Steve's eyes catch on the broken railing, and for a moment, watched in awe as Steve grabbed the rail and bent it outward. "Whoa," he whispered.

Steve backed up, eyeing the gap he'd created, the floor in front of him and the empty space between them. Was he…No way. He wasn't actually going to—yes. Yes, he was. Steve was flying through the air toward him, arms whirling in a circle and straining out to reach as far as he could.

Another burst of flame and Bucky's heart dropped into his stomach as Steve disappeared from view, lost in the flames and the shimmering heat. Bucky shielded his face with his arm but didn't close his eyes, and suddenly Steve was there in front of him, slamming into the metal bars.

Bucky leapt forward, arms wrapping around Steve's and pulling him up. He felt Steve start to fall beneath him as his feet couldn't find the grating, and—Holy Hannah, Steve was heavy now! He tightened his grip, and suddenly Steve's arms and legs found purchase and he was pulling himself up and over the rail and Bucky stumbled back out of his way.

Steve was leaning on the railing, breathing hard, and Bucky put a hand on his shoulder. "That was amazing," he panted. Steve had made it. He'd actually made it.

Steve turned to look at him and grinned. "Thought you were gonna say that was stupid."

"It was definitely stupid," Bucky said, nodding. Totally, colossally, way-out-there-even-for-Steve-stupid. But it had worked. "Figured you knew that already."

Steve laughed, and Bucky couldn't help smiling back. Steve pushed the door open and they moved out into the blessedly cool night air. On the ground below, Bucky could see lots of Nazis lying motionless on the ground and lots of ragged, dirty men running for the tree line. He shook his head, a smile creeping across his face. Everybody had gotten out. Steve had saved them all.

"Let's go, Buck," Steve said, wrapping an arm around his back. Bucky thought about telling him he could make it on his own, but decided against it. It was an awful lot of stairs.


	5. Steve: Three

They made it down the stairs without any trouble, and Bucky pushed away to start walking on his own. "You good?" Steve asked.

"I'll make it," Bucky said with a smile. He'd been coughing pretty badly coming out of the building, but sounded much better now that he was out of the smoke. "What about you?" He looked back at Steve, that old, protective evaluation in his eye, even if he did have to look up to do it now. "That had to be hell on your asthma, you should probably sit down for a while."

Steve blinked in surprise, then chuckled to himself, shaking his head.

"What? I'm serious, Stevie, you need to sit down and just breathe. I don't want you passing out. I'm actually a little surprised you haven't yet, but—"

"Bucky, I don't have asthma anymore," Steve told him.

Bucky stopped short. "Oh. Right. Right, of course you don't." He shook his head. "Anything else I need to know?" he snapped. He sighed, taking a deep breath and squeezing his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Sorry. I'm sorry." He sighed again and opened his eyes. "This is just…" He gestured helplessly at Steve. "This is a lot to wrap my head around."

Steve nodded. "I know." It had taken him a while to get used to too. Bucky had been aware of it for all of half an hour. He hadn't really thought about how this would change the dynamics of their relationship. Bucky was used to worrying about him. And, as much as Steve hated to admit it, it had been with good reason. "And, hey, I still appreciate the concern."

Bucky snorted. "That's new."

"I appreciated it before. I did!" Steve insisted at the look on Bucky's face. "Just maybe not…externally."

Bucky huffed a soft laugh and shook his head. "So, 'Captain America', what's next? And you're gonna have to explain that too, by the way."

Steve felt his skin growing hot, hoping it was dark enough that Bucky wouldn't see him blush. "Yeah, okay, but that part's a long story. I'm thinking right now we should try to find everybody who got out and regroup." It came out sounding more like a question than he intended.

Bucky smirked a little and nodded. "Sure. That way?" he asked, hooking a thumb toward the tree line.

They moved away from the building to where the group of men seemed to be gathering. "Sarge!" came a voice from their left. He and Bucky turned, and Steve saw the American guy he'd seen earlier in the evening.

"Gabe, hey!" Bucky said, moving forward to meet him.

"Dugan! Look who it is!" Gabe called, and before Steve could react, a big bear of a man was picking Bucky up off the ground in a hug.

"Sarge!" he boomed. "You're alive!"

"Yeah, he's alive, don't break him, Dum Dum!" an Asian man said, slapping the big guy on the arm.

"Thanks, Morita," Bucky said after he was back on the ground, rubbing his sternum. "Good to see you too, Dugan," he told the big guy.

"I see the good Captain found you," the English guy from earlier said, putting a hand on Bucky's shoulder. "You had us all worried. Good to see you, old boy."

"Hey, Monty, thanks. Wait, you guys know Steve?" he asked, pointing back at his friend.

Steve guessed at least some of these guys were from Bucky's unit, and the ones who weren't were probably cell mates. They acted like a team, though—Bucky had that effect on people. And they seemed genuinely glad to see him. Steve was glad he'd had people to watch his back over here.

"We've met," Monty said. "Although, he introduced himself as Captain America."

Bucky turned back to Steve, grinning. "Did he?"

Steve groaned inwardly. Once Bucky found out about the name's origins, he was never going to let Steve forget it.

"Wait," Gabe said. "This isn't…This isn't your friend, Steve, is it?" Bucky nodded. "Little Steve from Brooklyn?" Gabe asked skeptically.

"Yeah, it's…It's a long story," Bucky said.

"Well, you were right," Dugan said to Bucky, slapping Steve on the back hard enough to knock him a little off-balance. "He's a hell of a guy. So, what now, Cap?"

What now? Oh. Steve swallowed. Everyone was looking at him like he was in charge. Big, tough, soldier guys, some of whom looked like the kind of guys that used to push Steve around, and they were looking to him for instructions. Crap. Um…He looked to Bucky for help, and he nodded encouragingly. Okay. Yeah, okay, he could do this. "We need to see how many men we've got here," Steve said. Counting seemed like a good place to start. Oh, and they just fought their way out, so there were probably some guys who were hurt. "How many are wounded and who's in good enough shape to help them out. It's a long walk back to base."

"We've got a couple of trucks and tanks that made it out with us," Gabe said. "Not enough to carry everyone, but we should be able to give most of the wounded a ride."

"Great. You get on organizing that—get the wounded moving to the vehicles and find drivers. Take a couple of people to help." Gabe nodded, and he moved off with Dugan and a scruffy little guy who hadn't said anything yet. Excellent. Okay, but the wounded needed to be able to survive the trip back to camp. "Do we know of anyone here who's got medical training?"

Morita raised his hand. "I've got some basic training. I know there's a few other guys around here too."

"Can you find them and start patching people up? Whatever you can do that'll keep people on their feet until we get back." Good. Okay. Hmm…Okay, the Hydra soldiers seemed to have disappeared, but that didn't mean they were all gone, and they _were_ still behind enemy lines. He turned to Monty as Morita left. "I need you to start organizing everyone who's still standing. If we have any captured weapons, pass 'em around, find men to act as lookouts at the front, back, and all along the convoy."

Monty nodded crisply and departed and Steve let out a long breath. Hopefully that covered everything. "Well, look at you," Bucky said, grinning at him through the dark.

"Huh?"

"You really know what you're doing, 'Captain'," Bucky said. Still some sarcasm on the title, and Steve really wasn't looking forward to telling that story, but Bucky didn't sound at all surprised he had just pulled that off. If anything, he sounded…proud.

"Well, I mean, it just seemed like what needed to get done," Steve said uncertainly. He hoped he hadn't forgotten anything.

"You did great, Stevie."

Steve smiled. "Thanks." He paused. "Why did Gabe call me 'Little Steve from Brooklyn'?"

"Well, you _are_ from Brooklyn."

"Bucky…"

"What? It's not like I ever referred to you as 'Little Steve'. But up until recently, that _was_ one of your more defining physical traits. You can see why he'd want to make sure."

Steve shook his head. "You're a jerk."

Bucky grinned. "Yeah, but you know you missed me."

"Yeah. I did." Steve said softly. He really had. He wondered how long it would be before Phillips' apology stopped echoing in the back of his head and twisting a knife in his stomach. Bucky bumped his shoulder with a small, encouraging smile. Bucky wasn't dead. And he would stay that way if Steve had anything to say about it. "Hey, so are you okay?" he asked. Now that they weren't running for their lives, they had a little time, and Bucky had looked like hell back in the lab. Actually, he still looked like hell, but at least he was walking. "Back in the lab, you…" He swallowed hard. That vacant, lifeless stare was going to haunt him for a long time.

Bucky's face turned solemn. "Yeah, I know." He shivered a little and wrapped his arms around himself. "I'm making it. A lot of it's probably adrenaline," he admitted. Bucky hated admitting to weakness in front of anyone, and Steve knew he hated doing it in front of him too. But he also knew when Steve needed him to be honest, and he'd swallow his pride and tell him the truth. He'd been that way since they were six years old. "And I'll probably crash in the med tent when we get back, but first we've gotta get there. So, I'll do it." He sounded like he meant it, and Steve believed him.

"Okay," he said. "But if you need help, you let me know."

"I will," he promised, and Steve believed that too.

Things got busy after that as the convoy got ready to move, but Steve never moved from where he could see Bucky. Once they got going, he wasn't walking as quickly or as confidently as Steve was used to seeing, but he was keeping up, walking up front with Steve and keeping watch.

Steve kept his eyes mostly ahead—they had lookouts scouting ahead, but he saw a lot better in the dark than he used to, and he kept an eye on the trees and fields surrounding them. Bucky kept looking at the men walking with them, occasionally slowing down and drifting to the back of the convoy before catching up again. When Steve asked him what he was doing, he said he was counting.

"You make sure our way home's safe, Steve," he said. "I'll make sure all of us get there." Steve smiled and nodded, returning his eyes to the horizon. After all the practice he'd had looking after Steve, Bucky made a hell of a Sergeant.


	6. Bucky: Three

By the time they hit the ground, Bucky was walking steadier. Confident he could stay upright now, he moved away from Steve. "You good?" Steve asked him.

"I'll make it," Bucky assured him, smiling. He looked over at Steve, assessing him. "What about you?" He was kicking himself for not asking earlier. If he'd had trouble breathing through all that smoke, he could only imagine what it was like for Steve. Even if his lungs were bigger now, they were probably pushing it. "That had to be hell on your asthma, you should probably sit down for a while."

Steve looked confused, then shook his head, laughing softly.

"What?" Steve had always pushed back against what he called Bucky's mother-henning, but not with something as serious as his asthma. "I'm serious, Stevie, you need to sit down and just breathe. I don't want you passing out. I'm actually a little surprised you haven't yet, but—"

"Bucky, I don't have asthma anymore," Steve interrupted.

"Oh," Bucky said. He didn't…Of course he didn't. He should have realized that. "Right. Right, of course you don't." Of course he didn't. Erskine's magic formula just did everything, didn't it? "Anything else I need to know?" he snapped. He caught himself and took a breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. That came out wrong. It wasn't Steve he was mad at. He wasn't sure what he was mad at. It just…This was messed up.

"Sorry. I'm sorry," he sighed. "This is just…" He didn't know what it was. He waved his hand at Steve, taking in the whole…everything. "This is a lot to wrap my head around." And he was trying. He really was.

"I know," Steve said. He didn't sound like he was taking Bucky's mood swings personally, which Bucky appreciated. This role reversal was weird as hell—making sure Steve was okay was second nature to Bucky, and that whole part of his brain was freaking out because it didn't seem to have a job anymore.

"And, hey," Steve continued. "I still appreciate the concern."

Bucky snorted in disbelief. "That's new."

"I appreciated it before," Steve said. Bucky raised an incredulous eyebrow. "I did!" Steve insisted. "Just maybe not…externally."

Bucky couldn't help laughing at that. Understatement of the century. "So, 'Captain America', what's next?" They should probably not just keep standing around a burning Nazi weapons factory. And speaking of the new title…"And you're gonna have to explain that too, by the way," he added, pointing at Steve.

"Yeah, okay, but that part's a long story," Steve said. And that was a very interesting shade of red he was turning. Oh, Bucky was looking forward to hearing this story. "I'm thinking right now we should try to find everybody who got out and regroup," Steve finished quickly, asking more than telling, and Bucky smirked. Steve had a point—time and a place—but he wasn't getting off that easy.

"Sure," Bucky agreed. "That way?" he asked, pointing to where he'd seen the men heading.

They hurried across the empty space and through one of the many breaks in the fence. They could see figures moving around in the woods as they approached when a familiar voice sounded from their left.

"Sarge!" it exclaimed, and Gabe appeared from behind a tree, grinning.

"Gabe, hey!" Bucky greeted happily, veering towards his teammate. He'd been hoping they'd all made it out okay.

"Dugan!" Gabe shouted, "look who it is!" and Bucky's breath left his chest in a whoosh as two giant arms wrapped around him and lifted him off the ground.

"Sarge!" Dugan bellowed happily. "You're alive!"

"Yeah, he's alive—don't break him, Dum Dum," Morita said, slapping Dugan's arm.

Dugan put him down and Bucky rubbed his chest, making sure he hadn't cracked any bones. "Thanks, Morita," he said with a grin. "Good to see you too, Dugan," he added.

He felt another hand on his shoulder and turned to see a smiling Monty. "I see the good Captain found you. You had us all worried," he said, and Bucky could hear the emotion under his calm voice, echoed in the eyes of the rest of them. "Good to see you, old boy."

"Hey, Monty, thanks," Bucky said, patting his shoulder. Wait, 'good Captain'? "Wait," he asked, turning back to look at them all. "You guys know Steve?"

"We've met," Monty said as the others nodded. "Although, he introduced himself as Captain America."

Bucky spun slowly back around to face Steve, grinning. "Did he?" He hadn't even heard the story yet, but it was getting better and better. He heard Steve groan and his grin only widened.

"Wait," Gabe said, pointing at Steve. "This isn't…This isn't your friend Steve, is it?" Between foxholes, rainy nights in tents and long nights in the cage, everyone had talked a lot about home. Bucky nodded, and Gabe's eyebrows wrinkled in confusion. "Little Steve from Brooklyn?"

"Yeah, it's…It's a long story." Bucky still needed more of it before he attempted to explain it to anybody.

"Well, you were right," Dugan said, clapping a hand hard enough to Steve's back that he staggered a little bit, and making Bucky smile. That struck a familiar note. "He's a hell of a guy. So, what now, Cap?"

Everyone was looking at Steve. Steve, who took a moment to realize that, then looked at Bucky with a deer-in-the-headlights expression. Steve was smart, and Bucky knew it. Steve just wasn't used to other people knowing it, and Bucky gave him an encouraging nod. Take a breath, Steve. You've got this.

Steve licked his lips and looked around. "We need to see how many men we've got here," he said. "How many are wounded and who's in good enough shape to help them out. It's a long walk back to base." Bucky nodded. Check on your people and make sure no one gets left behind. Good start.

"We've got a couple of trucks and tanks that made it out with us," Gabe said, pointing back to the clearing. Bucky smiled. Dollars to donuts, Dugan had been the one to steal the tank. "Not enough to carry everyone, but we should be able to give most of the wounded a ride."

"Great," Steve said, looking a little more confident now that the first thing he'd said seemed to have been the right one. "You get on organizing that—get the wounded moving to the vehicles and find drivers. Take a couple of people to help."

Gabe nodded, and he took off with Dugan and the little French guy. Dernier. That was his name.

"Do we know of anyone who's got medical training?" Steve asked. Okay, good. Depending how long of a walk it was, the wounded might not make it very far. Before Bucky could point out Morita, he raised his hand.

"I've got some basic training," he said. "I know there's a few other guys around here too."

"Can you find them and start patching people up?" Steve asked. He didn't look nervous anymore. "I need you to organize everyone who's still standing," he said, turning to Monty. "If we have any captured weapons, pass 'em around, find men to act as lookouts at the front, back, and all along the convoy."

Steve let out a long breath as they left and Bucky grinned. "Well, look at you," he said. He knew his boy had it in him.

"Huh?" Steve turned back to him, confused.

"You really know what you're doing, 'Captain'," Bucky told him, stressing the title because he knew it embarrassed him and he was having fun with that, but meaning every word. Steve had always had the brains, the courage and the compassion to make one hell of a leader, but his size kept people from seeing that. Yeah, it was weird that Steve was big now, but if it let other people see what Bucky always knew was there, then it was pretty awesome.

"Well, I mean," Steve started awkwardly, scuffing his boot on the dirt. "It just seemed like what needed to get done." Okay, so natural leader _inside_. They could work on the outward confidence later.

"You did great, Stevie," Bucky assured him.

Steve smiled, his cheeks going faintly pink. "Thanks." He paused and looked up at Bucky with an eyebrow raised in curiosity. "Why did Gabe call me 'Little Steve from Brooklyn'?"

Yeah, he'd been wondering if Steve had caught that. "Well, you _are_ from Brooklyn."

"Bucky…" he said with an exasperated glare.

Bucky raised his hands in a what-do-you-want gesture. "What? It's not like I ever referred to you as 'Little Steve'. But up until recently, that _was_ one of your more defining physical traits. You can see why he'd want to make sure." Steve had had time to get used to this. He wasn't grasping how weird it was.

Steve shook his head. "You're a jerk," he said, but there was a smile in his voice and Bucky grinned.

"Yeah, but you know you missed me."

"Yeah," Steve agreed, his voice soft. "I did." Bucky remembered back to the lab, him saying something about how he thought Bucky was dead. He stepped closer and bumped Steve's shoulder with his own, a physical reminder that they were both still here.

Steve gave him quick, grateful smile, then looked him up and down. "Hey," he asked. "So, are you sure you're okay? Back in the lab, you…" He swallowed hard, and Bucky's smile disappeared. Yeah. If he'd looked anything like how he'd felt, he wasn't surprised it'd freaked Steve out.

"Yeah, I know," he agreed. A shiver ran up his spine, more from the memory than the night air, and he wrapped his arms around himself. "I'm making it," he told him. He'd love to say he was fine, but he wasn't. Steve knew that and he knew that. "A lot of it's probably adrenaline, and I'll probably crash in the med tent when we get back," he admitted. He was supposed to be the tough one, and he hated letting anyone—even Steve—know that he was struggling, but Steve had never thought any less of him when he did.

"But first, we've gotta get there," Bucky finished. "So, I'll do it." Adrenaline had brought him this far, and he was kind of surprised it was still pumping, but he would ride it until it crashed and let stubbornness carry him the rest of the way.

"Okay," Steve said, and he sounded like he believed him. "But if you need help, you let me know."

"I will," he promised, and he meant it.

Things started going faster as the convoy got moving. Steve moved back and forth down the line as they got ready, but Bucky could feel him keeping his eyes on him. He seemed to settle a little once they started walking and Bucky kept pace with him.

There wasn't much talking as the group went along. For some, walking was all they could manage and there wasn't air to spare. For the rest, well, they _were_ in enemy territory. No need to call any more attention to themselves than they already were.

Steve was fascinating to watch. He was keeping watch on their surroundings, whispering with the scouts who would run back to report, checking in with the medics who would come forward with status updates and looking back to look over the silent men and vehicles. Bucky smiled to himself. Steve had finally found his element.

While Steve kept an eye on where they were going, Bucky drifted back along the line, nodding to Steve that he was alright. He checked in at each vehicle, nodding at the men on foot as they walked by, making eye contact and making sure they were doing okay. More than once, he coaxed those who really weren't looking good into the bed of a truck or onto the outside of a tank.

When he moved back up to the front of the line, Steve arched a curious eyebrow. "Counting," Bucky said quietly. Steve may be Captain America, but Bucky was still the Sergeant. "You make sure our way home's safe, Steve," he said. "I'll make sure all of us get there."


	7. Steve: Four

It had still been reasonably early in the evening when they left the Hydra base, and they walked all night and nearly all of the next day before camp was in sight. Steve wished he could have called Peggy to send someone for them, or at the very least, let her know they were coming, but when they were safely away from the prison camp and moving down the road, he discovered that his radio had taken a bullet for him. The bullet would have hit above his heart—still in the chest, though, and he wondered—given his new healing abilities—how bad it would have been. He was glad he didn't have to find out, and he decided not to mention it to Bucky.

Bucky had continued his occasional checks to the back of the line as the day progressed, and though it started taking him longer to get back up to the front, he always made it and he never complained. Even after the sun came up and they were back in friendly territory, no one talked much—everyone was exhausted. Even Steve was starting to feel it—super-strength came with super metabolism, and he was starting to get a little light-headed. Bucky was staying on his feet, but it looked like it was taking more and more concentration to do so, and Steve didn't want to distract him. He did keep a closer eye on him, though.

Guards from the camp had seen them before the base was actually in sight, and by the time they crested the last hill, it looked like word had spread. Soldiers started to line the road, moving out to greet their comrades as they raised the barrier. The entire company put a little more spring into their step, walking a little straighter.

Shouts and cries of, "look who it is!" sounded around them and the crowd grew, staring at them in awe as they crossed into camp. Men started to clap, pointing and cheering as they recognized their friends. Happiness swelled up in Steve's chest, and he couldn't keep from smiling, turning to Bucky and putting a hand to his shoulder. They'd made it. They'd actually made it. Bucky looked up when he felt Steve's hand on his shoulder and returned the smile with a nod.

As they reached the main cluster of tents, he saw Phillips and Peggy coming out to meet them. Phillips didn't look very happy, but then, he never really did. Steve wondered exactly how much trouble he was in. He saluted, and Phillips nodded but said nothing. He seemed to be waiting for Steve to go first.

"Some of these men need medical attention," he said. Phillips looked around, eyeing the crowd behind Steve. Medics were already starting to move in. Steve took a deep breath. May as well get it over with. "I'd like to surrender myself for disciplinary action."

Phillips looked around again and maybe, sort of, looked like he was trying not to smile. "That won't be necessary," he said. He eyed the men, shook his head a little, and then he actually did smile.

"Thank you, Sir," Steve said, more than a little thrilled to have finally gained Phillips' approval.

Phillips nodded and turned, saying something to Peggy before he walked away. Peggy stepped forward—awfully closely—brimming with some kind of emotion Steve couldn't identify. He hoped it was a good one. She looked like she was trying to decide what to say, and looked him up and down before settling on, "you're late."

Steve pulled out the shattered radio. "Couldn't call my ride," he told her. She'd been worried about him.

"Hey!" he heard Bucky shout from behind him. "Let's hear it for Captain America!" Peggy smiled at him as they were surrounded by cheers and whistles and thunderous applause. Steve turned to look at Bucky, who cocked an eyebrow and smirked and kept clapping. People were patting him on the back, and Steve turned to look around, a smile growing on his face. This was…He was…This was overwhelming and humbling and kind of amazing.

Eventually the cheers died away as people returned to their reunions and medics were able to work through the crowd and pull people away. Bucky clapped Steve on the shoulder and nodded toward the med tent. He looked like he was about to fall over. "I'll come find you," Steve said, squeezing his shoulder. "Take good care of him," he added to the medic who was leading him to the tent.

"Is that your friend?" Peggy asked, watching Steve watch Bucky walk away. Steve nodded and she smiled. "I'm glad you found him."

"I almost didn't," Steve said. "He was…"

Peggy put her hand on his arm. "But you did," she said firmly. "He'll be alright."

Steve nodded again. She was right. He'd be fine. They all would. "Sorry about the radio." He looked over to the command tent. "And I hope you didn't get in too much trouble."

"Fortunately for my job, you have very good timing," she said with a smile. "Are you alright? I know the Colonel is going to want to talk to you, but if we need to find a doctor first…"

Steve shook his head. "I'm alright. Although…" He rubbed his temple, trying to will away his growing headache. "Do you think he'd let me eat first?"

Peggy chuckled. "I think we can arrange something. Why don't you go on and check in and I'll see what I can find." She patted him on the arm and started to walk away. "Steve?" she said over her shoulder.

"Yeah?"

"This is…" she shook her head. "Doctor Erskine would have been very proud of you."

She turned away again and Steve felt his cheeks going pink as something warm uncurled in his chest. He hoped she was right. This seemed like the kind of thing Erskine would have had in mind.

He wasn't in the command tent long before Peggy reappeared with an orderly with a tray of food. Phillips' eyebrows went up at the sight of the food, but he motioned for Steve to start eating and keep talking. They were there well into the evening, Steve giving a detailed account of everything that had happened since he left the base, everything he'd seen and done. Peggy and Phillips asked questions any time it seemed like he'd left something out, and then Stark came in and he had to explain all the tech he'd seen as best as he could. They all seemed particularly interested in Schmidt, though Phillips was the only one who didn't seem surprised when Steve described the whole face-removing thing and what Schmidt looked like now. He couldn't tell if that was because Phillips already knew or if that's just how his face was.

Sometime after midnight, they finally ran out of questions. When Phillips dismissed him, Steve left quickly, before they could think of more. Two nights without sleep, a solo rescue mission and a thirty-mile hike were adding up to one tired super-soldier. Before heading back to his tent, he swung by the medical tent to check on Bucky.

The tent was packed. Every bed was full, and the nurse he spoke to told him they'd sent everyone who could manage back to their tents after being treated. He was a little dismayed when she told him Bucky was not one of the ones they had deemed fit enough to send away for the night. She directed him to his bed and told him she'd send the doctor over to talk to him.

Bucky was in a smaller tent outside the big one. The beds here were cordoned off with curtains, and Bucky's was back in the far corner. He was asleep, and it suddenly occurred to Steve to wonder how long it had been since Bucky had slept. He'd been in a weird in-between sort of place in the lab, and he wondered how long he'd been kept like that. He was sound asleep now, so still and quiet that Steve had to lean in to make sure he was breathing. Maybe Steve was just tired, or maybe it was his imagination, but he thought Bucky looked worse—not worse than in the lab, certainly, but he'd seemed like he was rallying once they got moving. He looked really pale, which made the dark circles around his eyes more pronounced, and his skin was clammy.

"Captain Rogers?" came a voice from behind him. Oh, right, that was him. He turned around to see a doctor who looked almost as worn out as Bucky did standing beside him. This had to have been a hell of a night for the medical team. "Linda told me you were asking about Sergeant Barnes."

"Yeah," Steve said quickly. "How is he?"

The doctor sighed. "Well, like most of the men here, he's had it pretty rough. He's got the sort of malnutrition, dehydration, exhaustion and, comparatively speaking, minor injuries one tends to see in POW's."

"But that's not what's bothering you," Steve guessed.

The doctor shook his head. "No. He does show some signs of more serious physical abuse—given where he was, it was probably some kind of torture—but the coloring of the bruises and the tissue damage seem to be several days old. In the past couple of hours, he's started running a fever, and he's fighting off some kind of infection. It looks like pneumonia, although I'm waiting on some test results to be sure, but we've already started him on antibiotics."

Steve's insides twisted at the mention of torture. "Is it bad?" he asked the doctor. "The pneumonia?"

"It's a fairly advanced case, but we're keeping a close eye on him, and I think we've caught it in time to keep it from turning dangerous."

That was worrying enough, but something in the doctor's tone made Steve suspicious. "What aren't you telling me?"

The doctor sighed and rubbed his forehead. "He passed out before we got too far into the examination, but some of the men he was being held with mentioned that there was a scientist at the factory who liked to do human experiments." The doctor sighed again. "There's something in his blood…"

A weight dropped into Steve's stomach, and he swallowed down the urge to be sick. "What is it?"

The doctor shook his head. "I don't know. I've got people looking into it, but I just…I don't know."

"Is it hurting him?" Steve pressed.

"I don't know," the doctor said again. "It doesn't _appear_ to be doing anything, but that doesn't mean it's not. Now that the immediate crisis has passed," he said, gesturing to the tent at large and the camp in general. "We can actually devote some time to investigating and we'll be checking his blood regularly to see if there's any change." He gave Steve a tired smile. "Whatever it is, it's stable for the moment. The SSR medics are already looking into it, and those boys are good at what they do. I'm hopeful we'll figure it out."

Steve nodded.

"You can stay with him if you'd like," the doctor told him. He gestured to a chair in the corner. "Just make sure to stay out of the nurses' way. I'll be back later, hopefully with better news."

He left, and Steve sank down into the chair. "Oh, Bucky," he breathed, running a hand across his face. He'd guessed, back in the lab, but to hear someone actually say it out loud…Experimentation. He shuddered and had to take a few calming breaths to keep from throwing up. He was gonna kill Schmidt. And the little scientist. And anyone else from Hydra he could find.

"Why didn't you say anything?" he asked softly. But then, what could Bucky have said? The immediate need had been to get up and get out, and Bucky did that. And if their places had been switched, Steve would have seen the situation and decided that information could wait for a better time too. He huffed a soft laugh. He wondered if one of them had learned their stubbornness from the other—and if so, which one—or if they'd just both always been that way.

Steve felt his eyes drifting shut and leaned back in the chair. He put a hand up on the bed and wrapped it around Bucky's forearm so he would be able to feel any movement or sudden change in temperature. "Hang in there, man," he whispered. "I got you out. Don't you leave me now."

Steve woke up around sunrise to one of the nurses changing Bucky's IV. "I'm sorry, Captain," she said. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's alright," Steve said. "How is he?" He nodded down at Bucky.

"His fever's come down a little," she said. Steve nodded and she left. He'd been hoping for better.

"Captain?" Another face poked through the curtain, and Steve thought he recognized the man as someone from Erskine's lab in New York, though his name was escaping him. Steve stood and nodded for him to come in.

"Eddie Polaski," the man said. "I'm with the SSR. I worked with Dr. Erskine for a while before…"

Steve nodded.

"Anyway," Eddie continued. "The doc had me take a look at the Sergeant's blood, and he told me you were interested in the results?"

"Yeah," Steve said quickly. "What did you find?"

"Well," Eddie said, pushing his glasses up on his nose. "The boys at Hydra seemed to be trying to recreate Dr. Erskine's formula—the one he used with you. You, ah, he told you about Schmidt and…all that?"

Steve nodded.

"Good," Eddie said, looking glad he wouldn't have to explain it. "It looks like they were working off of what the formula looked like back when Schmidt took it. It's a very crude, much messier version of what you got."

Steve suddenly felt like throwing up again. "They didn't, I mean, he's not gonna turn into…" He couldn't finish the thought.

"No!" Eddie's eyes widened, looking as horrified as Steve felt at the idea. "No. That, no, that's not what they were doing here."

"Oh, thank God," Steve breathed.

"No, um, they had isolated the part of the formula that speeds up healing and they were working on that. _That's_ what's in the Sergeant's blood."

Steve's eyebrows wrinkled in confusion. "They were trying to heal him?"

Eddie shook his head. "Sorry. What I should have said it that they were _trying_ to isolate that part of the formula. It's not a cut and dry science—you can't just lift pieces of it out. Based on what I saw in his blood, this was the latest of several attempts to get it right. Possibly the first one that actually _did_ get it sort of right. I know some of what went into that formula, and getting the measurements wrong can be fatal."

"This could have killed him?"

"It could have," Eddie agreed. "It…probably did kill several people before him."

Steve took a deep breath. "So what does this all mean? Is he gonna be okay?"

"It's a little early to know for sure," Eddie said. "The formula they injected him with is nowhere near as sophisticated as yours—based on the blood tests we've seen, it looks like it's starting to break down already. That's why he's getting sick. He's had this pneumonia for a while, and when they started the experiment, Hydra gave him something to block it so they could experiment without him dying, but they didn't bother to cure it. Whatever that blocking agent was is breaking down, and the formula's breaking down, so now the disease is coming back because it never really went away."

Steve took a moment to process all of this. Breaking down _sounded_ like it should be a good thing. "So, the stuff Hydra put in him, it's not gonna hurt him?"

"Hopefully not."

"Hopefully?" Steve didn't really like the sound of that.

Eddie sighed. "This isn't anything we've seen before. There's just no way of knowing where it's gonna go. Up to this point, whatever they put in him has actually probably been what was keeping him alive—the shape he's in, he should never have made the hike back here. But it's breaking down now, and while it could just work its way out of his system, it could just as easily break down wrong and release some of its more dangerous components into his blood, or even damage his natural ability to heal, depending on how it affects his cells."

Steve swallowed down the rage churning in his stomach—this wasn't Eddie's fault. "So this might still kill him?" he asked, fighting to keep his voice level.

Eddie nodded. "It might. I do think that's the less likely option, but I don't want to make any promises at this point."

"Can you get it out of him?" Steve asked. "Cure it somehow, or…"

Eddie was already shaking his head. "Not at the rate it's changing. By the time we would be able to put something together, he'll have either gotten better, or…" He trailed off uncomfortably. "The best we can do is keep monitoring him and treat any symptoms the compound may cause." He looked up at Steve sympathetically. "I'm sorry I can't give you better news. But, I'm still hopeful, and we're going to be doing everything we can."

Steve nodded. "I know. Thanks."

"I'll be back in a little while for another blood sample," Eddie told him, leaving with a small nod.

Steve let out a long sigh, rubbing the side of his head. This was so much worse than he'd thought. He hadn't known what exactly had happened to Bucky while Hydra had him, but he'd known it wasn't good. But Bucky had really seemed alright on the walk back—just worn down, and Steve had been hopeful that he would bounce back pretty quickly. He wondered how many people had died in the little scientist's lab, and what would have happened to Bucky if Steve's tour hadn't brought him through Italy. He swallowed again, quelling the rage that was still boiling in his stomach. Hydra had to end.

He looked at Bucky, who hadn't moved since last night. Steve sat back down and put a hand to Bucky's forehead—still warm, but cooler than last night. "You can kick this, Buck," he said, patting his arm. "You're gonna get better." It was weird, being on this side of the sickbed. Bucky rarely got sick at home.

He didn't realize he'd drifted off again until he woke up. Bucky was moving on the bed, muttering to himself as he tossed back and forth. "Bucky?" Steve leaned forward, putting his hand on Bucky's arm.

"Nnh," Bucky grunted, stiffening at Steve's touch. "Two, five-five…s'ven," he slurred.

"No, hey, Bucky, it's me, it's Steve. It's okay." He shook his arm, hoping that would wake him up. Bucky's eyes fluttered open, but his gaze rolled past Steve without stopping, settling on an empty spot on the wall.

"Barnes. S'rg'nt. Three, two…five 'ive, sev'n…" That horrifyingly empty stare was back.

"No, no, no," Steve said, leaning in closer. "Bucky? Hey. Bucky, look at me." He reached up and rolled his head to side so that Steve was in his line of sight and patted his cheek with his hand.

"Barnes," Bucky rasped. "Sergean'…Three. Two…five…" He stopped. "Three, two, five," he started again. "Five…s'v'n…Barnes…"

"Bucky, no, come on," Steve urged. "You're safe now, you're out of that lab. They're not gonna hurt you anymore. You're safe."

"Sergeant…" Bucky whispered.

"Please, Bucky," Steve said desperately. "Don't do this." He swallowed down the waver in his voice. "It's me, it's Steve. I'm right here. Please come back."

"Steve?" It was barely audible, but it was Bucky, life blinking agonizingly slowly back into his eyes.

Relieved laughter bubbled up in Steve's throat. "Bucky! Hey, yeah, yeah it's me."

Bucky blinked again and licked his lips, eyes rolling slowly from the curtain behind Steve to the canvas of the tent. "'s goin' on?"

He looked and sounded terrible, but Steve was just so glad to see him conscious and aware that he couldn't keep from smiling. "You're in the medical tent. Back at camp," he added. "You got real sick. Doc said you have pneumonia."

"'s what M'rita said," Bucky said.

"What?" Morita wasn't here. Was his fever bad enough for him to be seeing things?

Bucky rolled his eyes, though it seemed to take a lot of effort. "'n th' cage. Was sick then. Morita thought it was 'monia."

"Oh. Well, he was right. But they're gonna get you fixed up. You're gonna be okay." He would be. He had to be.

"Y'alright?"

"Me? Yeah, I'm fine."

"Look like hell," Bucky said, one corner of his mouth going up. Steve huffed a soft laugh. He realized he'd gone straight from arriving to reporting to Phillips to the chair he was in right now. He was still covered in soot and grime and dirt and probably didn't smell that great.

"Nothing a shower won't fix," he assured Bucky.

Bucky eyed him skeptically. And sleepily.

"Hey, go back to sleep, alright?" Steve told him. He patted Bucky's shoulder. "Everything's okay now."

"Mm," Bucky said. He looked like he wasn't quite finished yet, but his eyes were already sinking shut. Whatever he'd wanted to say was lost in a sleepy mumble. Steve smiled.

He pushed himself up out of the chair. Bucky had woken up, and that had to be a good sign. And Bucky hadn't woken up alone. Steve didn't intend for that to happen until he was out of the med tent, but he needed something to eat, so he hurried back to his tent, and after a hasty shower and change of clothes, headed to the mess hall. He grabbed a stack of sandwiches and the biggest cup of coffee he could find, ducking behind a flap of canvas when he saw Phillips. He didn't want to get caught up in another round of questions.

Eddie was back in the tent when Steve pulled the curtain open. "Just here for some more blood," he told him, pulling a syringe out of Bucky's arm. "We're checking it regularly. Not anything to report yet, I'm afraid, but his fever broke. There's something we can be thankful for."

Bucky still looked pale, but he wasn't sweating like before. Steve wondered if this was what it was like being Bucky, back when Steve got sick all the time. These ups and downs of worry and relief were nerve-wracking. Bucky had somehow always seemed to keep his cool.

"Thanks, Eddie," Steve said.

"I'll be back in a while for some more blood," he said. "Or, if we figure anything out, I'll be back before that."

Steve settled back down in his chair as Eddie departed again. He looked Bucky over, and once he was sure that he did actually look better, he sat back and started making his way through his pile of sandwiches.

He ate slowly and thoughtfully. He ate a lot more than he used to—super metabolism, it made sense, but it still surprised him sometimes just how much more he needed to eat now. He wondered what Bucky would have to say about it. He wondered what Bucky would have to say about all of it, really. Yeah, he'd gotten the knee-jerk reaction and slap on the head when he first explained it, but they hadn't really talked about it. Bucky had yelled at him, which, as much as he got mad when Steve did something he deemed stupid, was a rare occurrence. Of course, nothing about the moment had lent itself to a normal conversation, and Steve figured that was where it had come from. He really hoped Bucky wasn't _that_ angry at him.

To tell the truth, when Erskine had offered him the chance to go through the program and take the formula, he hadn't really thought beyond the fact that it meant getting him to the front lines so he could do his part. The health benefits had been a pleasant surprise. But what it meant for the other people in his life…Well, there weren't really a lot of people in it, and with Bucky gone, Steve hadn't really stopped to think about it. Face to face with Bucky now, he wondered what it was going to mean. It was going to change things, certainly. He wouldn't be getting sick all the time, so Bucky wouldn't have to worry about that. He _definitely_ wouldn't have to worry about protecting him from bullies in back alleys. Actually, he realized he was looking forward to being as physically fit as Bucky, and what it meant as far as what they'd be able to do and where they could go. He'd always kind of felt like he was holding Bucky back before, although Bucky had certainly never done or said anything to make him think that was true.

But now, sitting by Bucky's sickbed and being on other side of things, Steve realized what a huge part of Bucky's life had been looking out for Steve. And Steve appreciated that, immeasurably and without enough words to express it. He always had, and he hoped Bucky knew that. He hoped Bucky knew, too, that as much as Steve appreciated the way Bucky looked out for him, that was the least of the reasons why he counted him as his best friend. He was never not going to need Bucky.

Bucky didn't wake up again until later that afternoon, and when he did, he woke up screaming. Steve hadn't thought anything would be worse than the blank stare and the broken, repetitive recitation, but he'd been very, very wrong. Bucky was trying to push himself up against the end of the bed, getting tangled in the blanket and his IV line. His eyes were wild and red and far away and terrified, and he was screaming at something only he could see like someone was trying to tear his heart out.

Steve jumped up and reached for him, and Bucky shied away, drawing his knees up to his chest and curling in on himself, twisting his fingers in his hair. His breath was coming in quick, uneven gasps before he started making a choking sound, like he couldn't get any air into his throat, and he was starting to rock back and forth. He was still screaming.

"Bucky?" Steve asked, carefully, reaching out a tentative hand to his shoulder. Bucky's head snapped up, wide, frightened eyes staring at Steve. He wasn't screaming anymore because he was gasping for air now and not getting any, and Steve sat down carefully in front of him, taking his other shoulder with his other hand and ignoring the doctor and nurse behind him who had coming running. "Bucky, it's okay. It's okay, you need to breathe. Just slow, deep breaths. Deep breaths, like me," he said, reaching up to untangle one of Bucky's hands from his hair. He pulled it over and placed it against his own chest, breathing slow and deep, just like Bucky used to do for him when they were kids and he had an asthma attack. And just like Steve did when they were kids, Bucky's eyes followed his hand and watched it rise and fall with each breath, slowly mirroring the pattern in his own breathing.

"There you go," Steve said encouragingly. He shot a quick look back to the doctor and nodded for him to leave. He had this now. Bucky was more than entitled to freak out, but he didn't need strangers hanging around to watch. "There you go," he said again. "Just breathe. It's okay. It was just a dream."

Bucky's breathing was ragged, but he was breathing. His fingers moved, bunching the material of Steve's shirt into his fist, and he looked up, meeting Steve's gaze with eyes that were red and watery and scared but, mercifully, aware. "Steve?"

"Yeah," Steve replied, reaching up and grabbing the hand that was clenched in his shirt. "Yeah, I'm here, Buck, it's okay."

Bucky's eyes roamed around their curtained-off section of the tent. "Wh…Where…"

"We're in an Army hospital," Steve told him, knowing what the rest of the question had been. "Remember, we left the factory? Had a hell of a long walk back here." Bucky's hand fell from his chest and moved to paw at the IV in his arm. "That's just medicine," Steve assured him, guessing what was going through his head. He itched to pull his hand away from it, but he wanted him to do it himself—to accept that he was safe. "You've got pneumonia, and that's just regular old antibiotics."

Bucky's hand stilled and he nodded. "Right. Right, you, sorry, you said that before, it—I didn't—I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Steve told him with a sad smile.

Bucky scrubbed his hands down his face with a sigh, lacing his fingers together in front of his mouth as if in prayer. "I thought for a minute…" He shut his eyes and exhaled. He swallowed hard and opened his eyes. "They did something to me, Stevie," he said quietly, shakily. "In the lab, they…They put something inside me. I can still…" He swallowed. "I can still feel it. I can feel it in me and it's _wrong_ and I don't know what they did and I don't know what it's doing, and…" His voice cracked and he blinked miserably up at Steve, tears finally spilling out from where they'd been welling up in his eyes. "Steve, I'm scared," he whispered.

Steve reached over and pulled Bucky into his arms before he had time to think about it. Bucky fell into the embrace with a choked sob, crying silently into his chest. He was shaking like a leaf. It had been a long time since Steve had seen Bucky cry, and he'd never seen him so afraid and broken and…small. It rocked him to his core. He'd never thought a human being could be capable of hating anything as much as he hated Hydra right now. "It's gonna be okay, Buck," he said softly, his own voice wavering a little. "We'll figure this out." He didn't know how, but they would. "We'll figure this out and everything will be fine. I promise."

"You can't promise that," Bucky whispered.

Steve tightened his grip on his friend. "Just you watch me."

Bucky made a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a sob and clenched his hand in Steve's shirt again. "We'll fix it, Buck. We will," he insisted. "I talked to the doc already, and whatever it is in your blood, they know it's there and they're working on it. And if they can't fix it, then we'll figure it out. You and me." Bucky was still shaking, but after a moment, Steve felt a small nod against his chest. They were gonna fight this thing together. "I promise," he said again.

Bucky's tears were coming slower now, but he cried a little longer before they stopped. Steve just held on to him and tried not to cry too. He pulled one hand up protectively around Bucky's head and leaned into his hair, reminding himself that he was here and he was alive. He hadn't been able to protect him, but he'd been able to save him, and he was going to do everything he could to save him again. If Eddie couldn't do it, then Stark, or someone else in the SSR…or anyone he could find. Steve wouldn't rest until his friend was whole again.

Bucky wasn't crying anymore, and his breathing was normal again. For several minutes, they just sat there in silence. Bucky's head was leaning on Steve's arm, and from somewhere near the crook of his elbow, he heard, "you're huge," in something close to Bucky's normal voice. A surprised laugh escaped Steve's throat, and Bucky pushed away to sit up on his own, looking Steve over as he did so. "That's still a thing, huh?"

Steve smiled. "Yeah." He paused. "Is that okay?"

This time, the surprised laugh came from Bucky. "What, because you'd change back if I said no?" He shook his head. "It's okay, Steve. It's weird as hell, and I still maintain that it was stupid, but, yeah. It's okay."

Steve smiled, relieved. "It is weird." Steve could definitely give him that one. "And, yeah, it was probably stupid—"

"No, no," Bucky interrupted. "It was _definitely_ stupid. But you're okay, you came out of it fine, and…" He trailed off, giving Steve a look that was hard to interpret. "It just…It kinda fits you, you know?"

"What?" That wasn't what he'd been expecting, and he wasn't really sure what it meant.

Bucky waved an uncoordinated hand at him. "You were always this guy. The brave little idiot staring danger in the face because you thought it was the right thing to do." He smiled fondly. "The outside just matches the inside now."

Steve smiled, looking down as he felt his face going red, embarrassed but pleased at his friend's words. Bucky started coughing then, and Steve leaned over to the bedside table to pour him a glass of water. All that screaming couldn't have been easy on his throat.

He drank the water eagerly, and only protested a little as Steve plumped up the pillows behind him and pushed him back against them. Years of experience had taught Steve that the elevation would help him breathe easier than lying flat. "Better?" he asked.

Bucky nodded. "So, pneumonia, huh? You're the expert, how long does that take to go away?"

Steve grinned. There'd been a while when they were teenagers where it seemed like he came down with it every winter. "It usually took me a couple of weeks. You could probably be out of here by the end of the week, though—you're still in better shape than I ever was when I had it."

Bucky shook his head. "You can't be serious." Steve shrugged. "How are you even still alive?"

Steve smiled. "I don't know. I think it had something to do with this big jerk who was always looking out for me. He used to threaten to thump me if I didn't get better."

Bucky huffed a soft laugh. "Hey, Steve?" he said after a moment. "I should've said it before, but…thanks."

"For what?" Steve wondered. For calling him a jerk?

"For what?" Bucky repeated with an exasperated huff. "For saving my life, moron." He smacked him weakly in the leg. "What'd you think I meant?"

Steve reddened again. "Oh, well, I…I mean, it's just, you know…" Of course he'd saved his life. It felt weird being thanked for something that he'd done because he needed to. "I mean, anybody would've..."

Bucky rolled his eyes and smiled. "You stormed a weapons factory thirty miles behind enemy lines, _alone_ , saved four hundred people, punched some sort of Nazi hell-beast in the face and got everyone home safely. It's _not_ what anyone would have done. And nobody did it," he added softly. "Nobody but you. Thank you."

Steve swallowed down the sick feeling of realizing Bucky had known no one was coming for him, and smiled and patted his arm. "You're welcome."


	8. Bucky: Four

It was a hell of a long walk back. Bucky had known they were behind enemy lines—who builds a weapons factory on the other guys' side of the fence?—but he hadn't known how far exactly. He was glad he hadn't asked either. If he'd known it was thirty miles from the get-go, he might have had some trouble talking himself into making it that far. Actually, he was making it a lot farther than he would have thought. The adrenaline rush from the escape had lessened, but it was more like it had moved to a low boil instead of fizzling out altogether. He supposed that was a good thing, but it was kind of weird.

He didn't have too much time to think about it. Between keeping an eye on the men, keeping an eye and an ear out for enemy soldiers, and keeping an eye on Steve, he didn't have the brain power to devote to much else.

By the time they crossed back into friendly territory, even Steve was starting to drag. Bucky wondered how much food it took to keep him going now—Little Steve ate like a bird, but surely that wouldn't fly now that he was this size. Not that any of them had eaten since their escape, but he was only capable of worrying about so many things at once, and Steve was a lot of them.

He kept a closer eye on Steve, but though he was moving slower, he never faltered. He also kept a closer eye on the rest of the men as he made his way up and down the convoy. The wounded were staying put in the vehicles, and several of the men who weren't were taking rotations and riding where there was room. By midmorning, Bucky was seriously considering joining them. That freakish adrenaline was finally wearing off, and putting one foot in front of the other was taking more and more work. It was taking him longer to get back to the front of the convoy when he drifted back to do his checks—although some of the delay probably had to do with the fact that he had to keep drifting off into the bushes to throw up.

His head was starting to spin again, and he was just about to tell Steve that he was going to need some help staying upright when men in familiar, friendly, good old American uniforms started appearing on the side of the road. They were here! Whispers and pointing turned into cheers and whistles, and Bucky squared his shoulders back. He'd made it this far. He would make the last steps on his own two feet.

Cheers and smiling faces surrounded them as the barrier across the road was raised, and though most were strangers, Bucky recognized some faces from the 107th. Steve turned to smile at him as they passed into the camp, clapping a hand to Bucky's shoulder. Considering that he was the guy that had just rescued them all, he seemed awfully surprised it had worked. Bucky smiled back—not as big as he would have liked, but staying on his feet really was taking most of his concentration—and nodded. He was proud of Steve. He was proud of all of them.

They came to a stop in front of a man who was obviously in charge and was followed closely by a woman in uniform who, Bucky noted, only seemed to have eyes for Steve. Steve obviously knew them both, walking right up to them and saluting. "Some of these men need medical attention," he said. The other man—a Colonel, by the look of it—eyed the crowd around them and looked back at Steve with a calculating expression. Steve took a deep breath. "I'd like to surrender myself for disciplinary action," he added.

Bucky sighed inwardly. If they hadn't been standing in front of a Colonel, Bucky would have used what little strength he had left to whack Steve across the back of the head. Disciplinary action. Of course Steve had gone on an unsanctioned rescue mission. Idiot. Bucky didn't know why he was surprised.

The Colonel looked around and shook his head a little. "That won't be necessary," he said with a smile that didn't look like it got used that often.

"Thank you, Sir," Steve replied. Bucky wasn't sure who this Colonel was yet, but apparently he didn't give out approval much. Steve was practically glowing.

The Colonel left and the woman stepped forward, looking Steve up and down. She was gorgeous, and she looked angry and happy and about five other things, and Bucky grinned. She'd been worried about Steve. He was going to have some questions for his boy later. "You're late," she said primly.

Steve pulled a broken radio out of his jacket pocket. "Couldn't call my ride," he told her with a small smile. That was the smoothest Bucky had ever seen him talk to a woman. He definitely needed to ask about this girl later. It was almost enough to distract him from what was obviously a bullet hole in the radio. Steve better not have had that in his pocket when it got hit.

Steve and the girl kept looking at each other, and Bucky could feel the crowd around them starting to break up. "Hey!" he called before anyone could get too far. He knew he was stepping on Steve's moment with the girl, but no way in hell were these guys getting away without giving Steve the appreciation he deserved for what he'd pulled off. "Let's hear it for Captain America!" He started clapping, and the crowd broke into a deafening roar of applause and cheers. Steve turned back to look at him, and he just cocked an eyebrow and smirked. He wasn't letting the Captain America thing go. And Steve didn't look mad. He was smiling—a little proud, a little embarrassed, and a little surprised that it was him people were cheering for. Bucky smiled back.

His face fell as Steve turned away and he swallowed down another wave of nausea. He blinked and there were two Steves for a minute before they blended back into one. A guy with a white coat and a stethoscope was touching his arm, and it took Bucky a minute to realize he was saying something. Yeah, he should probably go with this guy.

He clapped Steve on the shoulder and nodded toward the med tent to let him know where he was headed. He figured Steve had stuff to sort out with the Colonel, even if he had just dodged a court martial. Steve nodded and squeezed his shoulder. "I'll come find you," he promised. He nodded at the medic who was leading him away. "Take good care of him."

Bucky should have had some sort of snappy reply to that, but leaning on the medic and keeping pace with his feet was about all he could muster right now. Thankfully it wasn't far, and he found himself being deposited onto a bed in a little tent next to the big one. They were probably pretty full already.

The doctor came in, took one look at him and told him he'd be staying for a while. He nodded and leaned down to untie his boots, then the doc had to grab him before he face-planted on the floor. "Why don't we let Linda get those for you?" he asked, nodding to the nurse Bucky had failed to notice.

"Yeah, okay," he agreed, too tired to be embarrassed. The doctor pushed him back upright, and once he realized the doc was holding him up and the nurse was trying to take his shirt off, he tried to help. He wasn't sure if he did, and the next thing he knew, he was on his back on the mattress and the tent was spinning the same way the factory used to. His last conscious thought was that at least he couldn't fall over again since he was pretty sure he was already down.

It was too hot and it was too cold and everything hurt, but as long as he stayed unconscious, it didn't really bother him.

At some point, he became aware of his body again. He wasn't particularly excited about that. He felt like crap. He was sort of floating somewhere…somewhere…it was hard to tell. But there was someone there. "Nnh," he grunted, as whoever it was touched him. Barnes. Sergeant. Three, "…two, five-five…s'ven," he managed. That's what he was supposed to say when he was floating and there were people around, wasn't it?

Someone was talking and shaking his arm, and he might have opened his eyes. It wasn't like he could see anything, so it was kind of hard to tell. "Barnes. S'rg'nt. Three, two…five 'ive, sev'n…"

He felt his head moving and something hit him in the face. "Barnes," he rasped. He didn't want them to start hitting him again. "Sergean'…" It didn't make them happy when that was all he said, though. "Three. Two…" Why couldn't he stop saying it? "Five…" No wait, he knew this. How did the rest of it go? "Three, two, five…five…s'v'n…" What was next? Oh, yeah…"Barnes…"

Someone was talking to him. Zola talked too much.

"Sergeant…" he whispered. There were…there were numbers after that…

"Please, Bucky," a familiar voice begged. Bucky. That was him. And that voice…"Don't do this." He knew that voice. That voice was scared and he didn't like for that voice to be scared. "It's me, it's Steve. I'm right here. Please come back."

Steve. That was Steve and Steve was scared. Don't be scared, Stevie, I'm coming. "Steve?" he croaked, and he blinked, and blinked again, and, okay, there he was. He was blurry, but there was Steve.

Steve laughed and that was good, that was better than Steve being scared. "Bucky!" He sounded so happy to see him. "Hey, yeah, yeah, it's me."

Bucky blinked again and licked his lips. His throat felt really dry. He could see a little better now, though. Steve was still there. Steve was really big. That's right, Steve was big now. That was a…that was a thing. It was all green behind him. Not the lab, so that was good. "'s goin' on?"

Steve couldn't stop smiling. Bucky didn't know why, but it was nice to have somebody so happy to see him. "You're in the medical tent. Back at camp." Oh, right. Right. They walked…they walked a long way. "You got real sick," Steve added, his smile fading. "Doc said you have pneumonia."

Well, that probably explained a few things. "'s what M'rita said." Morita had thought he was coming down with pneumonia, and the way he felt now was the same as he had felt in the cage, so he was probably right.

"What?" Steve asked, and now he looked worried again.

It took an awful lot of work, but Bucky rolled his eyes. No, Stevie, I'm not seeing things. "'n th' cage," he explained. "Was sick then. Morita thought it was 'monia." Wow, talking was hard.

"Oh," Steve said. "Well, he was right. But they're gonna get you fixed up. You're gonna be okay."

Something about Steve's face when he said that…"Y'alright?"

"Me?" Steve seemed surprised he would ask. Bucky wished he had the strength to roll his eyes again. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Look like hell," Bucky told him. He didn't look hurt, but it was hard to tell under all the dirt. He didn't smell awesome either, but, fortunately, Bucky had nothing left to throw up at the moment.

"Nothing a shower won't fix," he assured him. Bucky eyed him suspiciously. "Hey, go back to sleep, alright?" Steve said, patting his shoulder. His eyes were closing without his permission. "Everything's okay now."

"Mm," was all that Bucky could manage. He wasn't sure if everything _was_ okay. There was something…something from the lab Steve needed to know about…

He thought he'd been asleep—and it had been such a long time since he'd actually gotten to _sleep_ —but then very abruptly he was awake again and Zola was there, looming over him. There were more straps on the table, holding him down, and he couldn't move at all. Something was tied down over his mouth, almost choking him. Zola smiled.

"Welcome back, Sergeant," he leered. "You didn't think you actually got away, did you? Let's get back to work, shall we?" Lights blazed into life above his face, blinding him. Zola appeared above him, blocking part of the light, with a syringe in one hand and a blade in the other.

The needle sank into his skin and his blood was on fire. He screamed, but no sound came out. The machine was humming above him, and the snakes were rolling in his gut, and his eyes widened in revulsion as he looked down and saw the skin of his stomach rippling as they writhed inside him.

"Oh, no, the poor things," Zola said, not sounding sad at all. "They appear to be trapped. Let's help them out, shall we?"

Bucky screamed in pain as Zola's blade slashed across his stomach, then screamed in horror as the snakes came climbing up and spilling out, slithering out of his stomach and off the side of the table, hitting the floor with wet, bloody smacks. Zola laughed gleefully, snatching up one of the snakes and slicing its head off with his blade. "Cut off one head," he cackled. "Two more shall take its place." And Bucky screamed again as two new heads popped up out of the wound.

The snakes were wriggling along in his veins now, even as they continued to pour out of his stomach, more burst through the skin of his chest, his arms, his legs. Everywhere they came out, the skin tore and peeled away in strips, leaving bright red flesh stretched tight across his bones. The skin was falling from his face now, leaving nothing but a bright, red skull, and he couldn't scream because the snakes were in his throat now, they were in his mouth and he couldn't breathe and—

"Bucky, it's okay." The voice was far away, but it was gentle and familiar and safe. "It's okay, you need to breathe. Just slow, deep breaths. Deep breaths, like me." He didn't understand any of the words, but they were calm and they were home, and he let them take his hand and untangle it from his hair. His eyes followed it as it moved, and it rested on something flat and broad and moving slow, and he knew this. He knew this. He used to do this a lot, and he knew what he was supposed to do, and it took him a minute to remember how, but he pulled in a long, deep breath.

"There you go." And he understood the voice this time. He was doing it right. Okay. Okay, he could do it again. "There you go. Just breathe. It's okay. It was just a dream." One more. That was breathing. He was doing it.

Breathing wasn't as hard as it was a minute ago. He wasn't quite sure he was doing it right, but it was getting better. The voice sounded happy. The voice was…The voice was over there. He moved his fingers slowly, feeling the bunch of soft material as he curled them. The voice was real. The voice was…"Steve?"

"Yeah." And a large, warm hand was reaching up and grabbing his. "Yeah, I'm here, Buck, it's okay."

Steve was here. Steve was…He wasn't…Bucky's eyes rolled around the room. It wasn't the lab. "Wh…Where…" It hurt to talk.

"We're in an Army hospital," Steve answered, and it had to be Steve, knowing what he'd been trying to say like that. "Remember, we left the factory? Had a hell of a long walk back here." Yeah, okay, Bucky did remember that. His eyes went down to the pinch he felt in his arm and his hand followed it. They weren't—Steve wouldn't let them…"That's just medicine," Steve assured him. "You've got pneumonia, and that's just regular old antibiotics." He sounded like he was waiting for something, and Bucky pulled his hand away from the needle. That's right, he was sick. He remembered that. Steve wouldn't let them put anything bad in him.

He nodded. "Right. Right, you, sorry, you said that before, it—I didn't—I'm sorry." Words still kind of hurt, and they weren't coming out in the order he wanted them too. Why did his head hurt so much? Oh, right, he was sick.

"It's okay," Steve told him with a sad smile.

No, it wasn't. It wasn't okay. Bucky scrubbed his hands down his face and sighed. He could still feel it. Whatever Zola had put in him, whatever it was that made his stomach churn and felt like shards of hot glass flowing in his blood, that was still there. "I thought for a minute..." he sighed, pressing his hands to his mouth. He'd thought maybe he was back, and he knew now he wasn't, but it didn't matter. Because it was still inside him.

He swallowed down a surge of nausea and opened his eyes, looking up a Steve who was blurry through his unshed tears. "They did something to me, Stevie," he said softly, his voice tight in his throat. "In the lab, they…They put something inside me." A lot of something. Something bad. "I can still…" He swallowed again as the snakes started churning faster. "I can still feel it. I can feel it in me—" It was moving and cutting and dancing inside of him but he didn't know what it was doing. Was it changing him? "—and it's _wrong_." It was so wrong. "—and I don't know what they did and I don't know what it's doing, and…" His voice broke and he ran out of words, and the tears that had been swimming in his eyes finally spilled out and started to fall, but he didn't care because whatever they did to him, he was broken now and he didn't know how not to fall apart. "Steve, I'm scared," he whispered.

Before the words had made it all the way out of his throat, Steve was reaching out with large, warm arms, pulling Bucky into an embrace so tight it hurt, but it was the safest Bucky had ever felt. He started crying in earnest now, shaking uncontrollably, and Steve just held on and let him. "It's gonna be okay, Buck," Steve said softly, and his voice didn't sound exactly steady either. "We'll figure this out. We'll figure this out and everything will be fine. I promise."

"You can't promise that," Bucky whispered. There was no one he'd rather have in his corner, but some things even Steve couldn't do. He didn't know what they'd done.

Steve's arms pulled in even tighter around him. "Just you watch me," he growled, and that was Little Steve in a back alley, bleeding and bouncing up off the ground to declare he could do this all day.

Bucky tried to laugh—because if there was one person besides Giant Steve he'd want in his corner, it was Little Steve—but it came out as a sob and more tears, and he clenched his fist in Steve's shirt to ground himself and try to keep from floating away in an ocean of terror, because it didn't matter which Steve he had, he didn't see how they were getting out of this one.

"We'll fix it, Buck. We will," Steve insisted. "I talked to the doc already, and whatever it is in your blood, they know it's there and they're working on it. And if they can't fix it, then we'll figure it out. You and me." And, somehow, the more Steve said it, the more Bucky believed it. Bucky always believed Steve, and whatever this thing was, Steve would die before leaving him to fight it on his own.

He couldn't manage words just yet, but Bucky nodded. "I promise," Steve said again softly, and Bucky believed that too.

It took him a little while before he was able to rein his tears in. Bucky hated letting anybody see when he was weak, but Steve…Well, Steve had always been different. He was safe. And while Bucky certainly didn't enjoy crying in front of him, he didn't really mind either. Steve never saw it as weak, never made Bucky feel bad about it. So he took the time to let the tears run out, let the fear run its course. He took comfort in Steve's presence, the arms around him, shielding him, the hand in his hair, Steve's head resting on his…So safe and solid and so very much _there_. He was real and he was here, and so was Bucky, and if they were together, they could lick anything. Just like they always did.

When his voice was steady and his fears, at least for now, were locked up in the back of his mind, Bucky took a deep breath. It wasn't like he'd never hugged Steve before, but now that his thoughts were settling, he was starting to process how weird this was. Usually _he_ was the big one. "You're huge," he couldn't stop himself from saying.

Steve's chest shook with surprised laughter, and Bucky pushed away to sit up. Yep, Steve was definitely massive. He knew that. His brain had accepted it, and yet, somehow, not. He knew it but it still surprised him. "That's still a thing, huh?"

Steve smiled at him. "Yeah. Is that okay?" he asked, and for the second time in as many days he was ten years old again and waiting for Bucky's approval.

It hurt his throat, but Bucky laughed anyway. "What, because you'd change back if I said no?" He shook his head. The punk was ridiculous. "It's okay, Steve." And, yeah, it really was. "It's weird as hell, and I still maintain that it was stupid, but, yeah, it's okay."

Steve's smile returned. "It _is_ weird," he agreed, and Bucky wondered for the first time just how weird it had been for Steve. Had he run into things because he was so tall now? Tripped over those giant feet? "And, yeah," he continued. "It was probably stupid—"

"No, no," Bucky interrupted. Yes, he was accepting this now, but that didn't mean it hadn't been a colossally bad idea. "It was _definitely_ stupid. But, you're okay, you came out of it fine, and…" He trailed off. Steve had always been so much bigger on the inside, so much more than anyone ever saw. "It just…It kinda fits you, you know?"

"What?"

Bucky waved a hand that was clumsier than he would have liked. "You were always this guy," he explained. "The brave little idiot staring danger in the face because you thought it was the right thing to do." He smiled fondly. "The outside just matches the inside now."

Steve turned several shades of red in rapid succession, but Bucky could tell he was pleased by what he'd just said. He went to say something else, but broke out into a sudden, rather painful cough.

Steve was already moving and suddenly there was a glass of water in front of his face. Bucky drank it eagerly, forcing himself to drink slowly so he didn't throw it all back up, and enjoying the coolness soothing his raw throat.

Steve took the empty glass and sat it down, reaching behind Bucky to plump up the pillows on the bed. He put his hands on his shoulders and pushed him back onto them. Bucky protested briefly—more out of habit than anything else. It did feel nice not to have to be holding himself up, but still being able to breathe at the same time.

"Better?" Steve asked.

Bucky nodded. "So, pneumonia, huh?" He didn't think he'd ever had it before. He knew Steve had. A lot. "You're the expert, how long does that take to go away?"

Steve smiled. "It usually took me a couple of weeks." Bucky thought he remembered that. Steve _was_ sick a lot, though, so it did all kind of blur together. "You could probably be out of there by the end of the week, though," Steve allowed. "You're still in better shape than I ever was when I had it."

"You can't be serious," Bucky said, shaking his head. Yeah, Steve had been a sickly, scrawny little stick of nothing, but he'd never been POW-bad…Had he? Steve shrugged, and Bucky realized that, yeah, he probably had. At least some of the time. If this was pneumonia, how had that little shrimp survived having it _eight_ times? "How are you even still alive?" he wondered.

Steve smiled, looking at Bucky fondly. "I don't know," he replied. "I think it had something to do with this big jerk who was always looking out for me. He used to threaten to thump me if I didn't get better."

Bucky couldn't help but laugh at that. He supposed his bedside manner had, at times, gotten a little brusque. He sobered. There had been a while there where he'd never thought he'd get to hear the little punk tease him again. "Hey, Steve?" he said. "I should've said it before, but…thanks."

"For what?" He looked genuinely confused.

"For what?" Bucky repeated with a sigh. He couldn't be that dense, could he? "For saving my life, moron." He reached over and smacked his leg with much less force than he was used to. "What'd you think I meant?"

Steve went red again. "Oh, well, I…I mean, it's just, you know…" Bucky smiled fondly. Steve had never really known what to do with compliments. "I mean, anybody would've…"

Bucky rolled his eyes. In Steve's head, yeah, everyone should be that brave and noble and ready to do the right thing. He smiled and waited until Steve was looking at him. "You stormed a weapons factory thirty miles behind enemy lines, _alone_ ,"—and they would talk about that later—"saved four hundred people, punched some sort of…Nazi hell-beast in the face and got everyone home safely. It's _not_ what anyone would have done. And nobody did it," he added softly, smile fading. He'd known they were too far in, too well-surrounded. Nobody planned to come for any of them, and Bucky should have died in that hellhole. "Nobody but you. Thank you."

A soft smile grew on Steve's face, and he reached over and squeezed Bucky's arm. "You're welcome," he said softly.


	9. Steve: Five

Steve spent most of the rest of the week in the medical tent. For the first few days, Bucky slept a lot, and Steve didn't want to leave him alone. Especially not with the nightmares. They'd been decreasing in frequency, but hadn't disappeared entirely. Bucky had told him as much as he could remember about what the little scientist—Zola—had done to him in the lab, and by the time he was done, Steve couldn't believe that he only woke up screaming _some_ of the time.

He was meeting more with Phillips, now that Bucky seemed to be on the mend, though the Colonel didn't often deign to hold their meetings in the medical tent. He'd been going over the intel Steve had given him, Howard had been experimenting with the tech he'd brought back, and they were starting to come up with a plan. Steve's information combined with reports from the former prisoners about what was being produced in the factories meant that Hydra was becoming more of an immediate threat than they had realized. Phillips had also, still somewhat begrudgingly, decided that Steve had proved himself to be the best man to lead the offense. Steve got the feeling Peggy had played a key role in convincing him of that, and he was equal parts grateful and terrified. They were going to be shipping back to London at the end of the week to convene at SSR headquarters before deciding anything final. Most of the men who'd been rescued from the factory were being sent away from camp for some R&R before returning to active duty, and a lot of them were going to London. Steve hadn't needed to pull too many strings to make sure that's where Bucky was headed once he was cleared to leave.

Bucky's condition was improving rapidly. The rest and the antibiotics were kicking the pneumonia, and at the end of the day after Bucky had first woken up, Eddie came by with more good news.

"Oh, good, you're awake," Eddie said, pulling aside the curtain.

"Hey, Eddie," Bucky said. He pulled his arm out from under the blanket and extended it. "Am I gonna have any blood left by the time you're done?"

"What? Oh, no, I'm not here for that," Eddie said. "Well, actually, no, I _do_ need another sample before I go, but that's not why I came."

"Did you guys figure something out?" Steve asked. Bucky looked over at him and then up at Eddie nervously.

"I've got good news," Eddie said with a smile. "We're seeing a significant breakdown of the compound in your blood, and, even better, the components are being absorbed into the bloodstream and working their way out of your system."

"Really?" Steve asked.

"I'm going take some more samples to make sure, and once you get to London you'll need to go in for a full physical, but at the rate it's going, your body should be clear of everything Hydra put into it by the end of the week," Eddie informed him.

A disbelieving smile was growing on Bucky's face. "It's really going away?" Eddie nodded. "I'm gonna be okay?"

"You're going to be fine, Sergeant," Eddie said with a smile.

A relieved laugh bubbled up out of Bucky's throat, and he turned to grin at Steve. "I'm gonna be okay! Thank you," he said, turning back to Eddie. "Thank you so much."

"Well, I've actually done very little," Eddie said. "But you're welcome."

He nodded and moved to leave. "Wait," Bucky called. He held out his arm again. "You said you needed more?"

"Oh, right," Eddie said, coming back in. He pulled a clean syringe from his pocket and took a sample. "Thank you."

"What'd I tell you?" Steve said with a grin as Eddie left.

"Yeah, yeah, you just know everything, don't you, punk?" Bucky said, still smiling. He'd tried not to talk about it, but Steve knew he'd been worried. Hell, Steve had been worried too—Eddie's initial report had _not_ been encouraging, and Steve's stomach had been twisting itself into knots for the past two days as he tried to figure out what to do.

Bucky blinked and shook his head a little bit and didn't fight Steve as he pushed him back to lie down again. "Dizzy?" he asked.

"A little light-headed," Bucky said. He sighed. "I hate being sick. I don't know how you did it all the time."

"Practice makes perfect," Steve said with a smile. "You're probably light-headed 'cause you haven't eaten." Bucky was on the road to recovery—he sounded better, felt better and stayed awake longer—but he still looked pretty rough. He hadn't gained back the weight he'd lost in captivity, and even though he'd been sleeping almost twenty hours a day, he still hadn't slept enough to get rid of the dark circles around his eyes.

"I really don't feel like eating," Bucky sighed.

"Well, you should still try it," Steve said, pulling over a tray. "You'll get better faster." Bucky shook his head. "I'll sit on you and make you eat this," Steve said.

"You wouldn't dare," Bucky growled. He had often used that threat on Steve when he'd been little and sick.

"Eat the sandwich and I won't have to," Steve said, smiling inwardly. He hated Bucky being sick, but he'd be lying if he said he hadn't longed for the day that he could turn Bucky's threat back on him.

"You're a terrible person, Steven Rogers," Bucky grumbled, grabbing the sandwich. It took a long time, but he got it down and managed to keep it down.

"See? That wasn't so bad," Steve said.

"Shut up," Bucky told him sleepily. He yawned. "I'm gonna thump you when I get better."

"Looking forward to it," Steve said with a smile. "Because you are gonna get better."

"Yeah," Bucky smiled, his eyes sliding shut. "Thanks, Stevie."

Five hours later he woke up with a strangled gasp, sitting up abruptly in bed, wild eyes staring sightlessly at the wall. Steve reached out and wrapped his hands around his arms—by now he'd learned that physical contact calmed Bucky down much faster when he woke up and didn't know where he was. "Buck? It's okay, Bucky, you're okay," Steve said.

His breath hitched in his throat a few times as he tried to remember how to breathe. "Steve?" His eyes darted around the tent and he started breathing slower. He pulled his arms out of Steve's grip and scrubbed his hands down his face. "Sorry," he said with a sigh. "I'm sorry."

"Buck, it's okay," Steve told him. Color rose in Bucky's cheeks as he leaned back against his pillow.

"I just wish I could get a handle on this," Bucky sighed.

"It's been three days," Steve reminded him gently. "No one's expecting you to just be okay all of a sudden. I'm not." Bucky didn't meet his eyes, and Steve continued. "Hell, I've had nightmares about what you told me they did to you, and I wasn't even there." That got Bucky to look at him. "It's okay," Steve finished, willing Bucky to believe him.

Bucky sighed and didn't say anything, but some of the embarrassment faded from his cheeks. He shifted against the pillow, sitting up a little more. He would be awake for a while now, Steve knew. "Hey, Steve?" he asked.

"Yeah?"

"Do you know if…I should've asked this earlier, but all this stuff with Hydra and my blood and everything put it clean outta my head…Do my folks know I'm okay?"

"I don't think they knew you were missing yet," Steve told him, thinking back a few days to his conversation with Phillips before the rescue mission. "Phillips was writing condolence letters the other day, which is when _I_ found out you were missing, but I don't think they got sent anywhere before we came back."

Bucky nodded. "That's good. That's good, I wouldn't want them to think I was…" He shook his head. "Would you, I mean…Would you mind checking? Just in case it did get sent. I need to write them anyway, but if a letter telling them I'm dead is going to get there before mine…"

"Sure," Steve nodded. He turned and pulled a notebook from the bag by his chair. "Here. I'll go and check with Phillips, and you can get started on the letter if you want."

Bucky smiled. "Thanks, Steve."

Phillips was a little hard to track down—Steve supposed coordinating the return of all the POW's had put a lot on his plate—but he finally found him in the make-shift science lab with Howard. Howard was incredibly excited about something he'd just discovered in whatever it was that Steve had brought back and was explaining it at great speed to the Colonel, whose eyes were glazing over. It would seem Steve was a welcome distraction.

"No," Phillips told him. "They never got sent. I hadn't finished with them, and then I was otherwise occupied when you ran off." He gave Steve a _look_ and Steve had the grace to look embarrassed. "So, no. No one thinks anyone's dead yet."

"Thank you, Sir," Steve said.

"Agent Carter and I have been looking into people for your team," Phillips continued. "If you have input, have it ready by the time we get to London," he finished, turning back to Stark.

"Yes, Sir," Steve said, nodding and exiting the tent. He hadn't thought about a team yet. It did make sense that no one wanted him storming Hydra bases alone. Steve certainly didn't want that, even though it had worked once. Bucky would probably have an aneurysm.

He didn't necessarily know anyone around here well enough to put together his own team…Although, some of the guys who'd helped after the escape were pretty impressive. He knew some of them were from Bucky's unit. He'd ask Bucky about it. And, of course, he wanted Bucky on the team. That much was a given.

Back in the med tent, Bucky was still awake, sitting up in bed and working on his letter, absently eating a sandwich as he wrote. Steve grinned. He must be feeling better if he was eating voluntarily. "How's the letter coming?" he asked.

"Just about done," Bucky said, swallowing the last of his sandwich. "I didn't really go into detail about the labor camp. Do I need to add any sort of explanation, or…?"

"Phillips never sent the letters," Steve replied. "So, no one thinks you're dead. Just…maybe not so good at writing letters."

"Very funny," Bucky said, folding up the letter. He sighed. "They haven't heard from me in a month. They may not have been told I'm dead, but they're probably starting to worry."

Steve sat down on the end of the bed. "You're in a war. They'd worry even if you sent a letter every day."

Bucky tilted his head in agreement. "Were they alright when you left?"

Steve nodded. "Yeah. I mean, I didn't see them after…all this," he said, gesturing at his chest. "But they were all okay. I saw them a few times a week. Your ma kept having me over for dinner and then complaining that I didn't eat as much as you did." Even though he'd signed up with Erskine the same night Bucky left, it had been a little while before he went anywhere.

Bucky chuckled. "That sounds like her. If she could see you eat now, though…" He shook his head. "Hey, so, yesterday…or this morning, or whenever it was Eddie was in here, he said something about London?"

"Yeah," Steve replied. Bucky looked at him like he was waiting for him to elaborate, so he did. "We're going to London at the end of the week."

"Why?"

"Phillips is meeting with the S.S.R. brass there. They're working out something for a strike team against Hydra." He'd gone over this so much with Phillips that he couldn't remember if he'd talked about it with Bucky yet. Apparently he hadn't.

Bucky nodded. "So, that's why _you're_ going to London. Why am I going?"

"They're sending everyone from the camp out for R&R. Since I'm headed for London anyway, it seemed easier if that's where you went too. I'd have to get you there eventually," he explained, confused as to why Bucky needed it explained.

Bucky sighed deeply, looking down. "You don't have to do that, Steve," he said softly.

"Do what?"

"I'm getting better. I can do my R&R wherever, and then I'm good to go back to the front. You don't have to drag me around and babysit me."

"Babysit you? No, Bucky that's not—"

Bucky looked back up and smiled, but not with his eyes. "I don't need you feeling sorry for me, Steve. You've got your whole thing going now, and you're gonna do great. I don't wanna be in the way. I've got my unit—I can go back there, and I'll be fine."

"You wouldn't be in the way, Bucky," Steve said. He couldn't figure out where this was coming from. He couldn't interpret the look in Bucky's eyes, either. He didn't look angry, or upset. He looked…sad, but Steve couldn't figure out why. "And you're not coming to London because I feel sorry for you. I want you to come because I, I need you there." It hadn't occurred to him that maybe Bucky wouldn't want to join his team. Although…he didn't think that's what this was.

Bucky huffed a humorless laugh. "No, you don't," he said quietly.

"I don't what?"

"You don't need me," Bucky said. "You've got this, Stevie."

"I don't—Bucky, of _course_ I need you," Steve insisted.

"For what?" Bucky asked softly. "This is your show now, man, you don't need me holding you back. You can take care of yourself." He kind of smiled—what was probably supposed to be an encouraging smile, but just sort of looked resigned—then looked down at his hands.

Steve blinked, dumbfounded. He got it now. He didn't believe it, but he got it. Bucky actually thought…"Bucky," he began, shaking his head. "I don't…" He sighed. "Four days ago, I stormed a Nazi weapons factory alone in the middle of the night with a prop shield and a handgun. What the hell do you think I did that for?"

"I'm guessing the four hundred prisoners of war had something to do with it."

Steve bit his lip and shook his head. "I didn't do it for them." Bucky looked up at him in surprise. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm glad I was able to get them out and they're okay, but I went in there for one person." Red rose in Bucky's cheeks and he looked down again. "I don't need you because you take care of me when I'm sick or fight off bullies in back alleys. I need you because you're my best friend. Hell," Steve huffed. "Forget friends, you're my brother. Yeah, maybe I can fight my own fights now, but…" He shifted closer and put a hand on Bucky's shoulder. "I'm _always_ gonna need you, Buck."

For a long moment, Bucky didn't say anything. Steve knew this whole change was weird for him. He'd known it was going to change some things. But not for one second had he thought that his newfound strength would make Bucky feel like he was worth any less to Steve now.

Bucky looked up at him, studying his face intently for any hint that Steve had said any of that out of pity. Steve had meant every word. He hoped he looked like it.

Bucky finally nodded. He smiled—just a little one, but it reached his eyes. "Okay," he said quietly. He shook his head, huffing an embarrassed laugh. Red still colored his cheeks. "You must think I'm an idiot."

Steve squeezed his shoulder warmly. "No," he said simply.

Bucky shook his head, running his hands back through his hair. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "I shouldn't've…" He sighed. "Apparently, wrapping my head around this is more work than I thought it would be."

Steve smiled encouragingly. "It's fine. And, you know, I know it's weird. It took me like a week to stop running into things." He grinned as he saw that get a smile out of Bucky. "It still catches me off guard some of the time. So, however long it takes you to process it, it's fine. Just know that the only thing that's different is that I'm taller now. That's it. You and me? Nothing's changed." A thought occurred to him and he grinned. "Well," he amended with a smirk. "That's not entirely true." He waited until Bucky was looking at him. "I don't think you can toss me over your shoulder and carry me to the clinic anymore."

A surprised laugh bubbled out of Bucky's throat, accompanied by a genuine smile. He shook his head, chuckling to himself. "You didn't talk to me for, what, a week after that?"

"I was twenty-four years old and you carried me down the street like a sack of potatoes."

"If you had just gone to the clinic on your own…"

"I was fine."

"You couldn't make it through a single word without hacking up enough mucus to fill a coffee cup."

Steve grimaced. "That is disgusting."

" _You_ were disgusting," Bucky countered, still chuckling.

Steve smiled, his mission accomplished. There was a spark back in Bucky's eyes he hadn't seen since they'd parted ways in New York. They were gonna be alright.

"So," Steve started. "You wanna know where the name 'Captain America' came from?"

* * *

 _Hello, gentle readers! Slight interruption from the author here. As we all know, the experimenting that Zola did on Bucky was what allowed him to survive the fall from the train. However, for the two years that the Howlies were running their missions, nobody seemed to find anything strange about Bucky and how fast he healed. Steve puts the pieces together in The Winter Soldier, but he seemed to have no idea beforehand that that would have been the case. (And who would know Bucky better than him?) Therefore, my theory is this: At the time, Bucky was just another lab rat—not anyone special to Hydra—and whatever they put in him was experimental and not fully functional. It broke down enough for no one to notice it was there—because of course they're going to run medical tests on the guy who was experimented on by Nazis—with just a tiny little bit of it left bonded to his cells or whatever that they missed. Not enough to give him super-healing on the regular, but just enough to kick in when his body is threatened with death. It keeps him alive and Zola gives him a more amped up version while turning him into the Asset. So, there you go. Enjoy the rest of the story. Author out._

* * *

 _._


	10. Bucky: Five

Bucky slept a lot over the course of the next few days. He couldn't remember ever having been so tired in his life. He kept nodding off mid-conversation and waking up several hours later, which was a little embarrassing, but Steve was gracious enough not to say anything about it. He also had the grace not to say anything about the nightmares—when he woke up screaming, Steve would just move to where Bucky could see him and hold on to him, grounding him back in the real world and reminding him he was safe now. They didn't talk about it, but Bucky knew Steve made a point of making sure he never woke up alone, and though it kind of made him feel like a little kid, he was immensely grateful.

Steve always checked with Bucky before leaving, but he was having more meetings with Colonel Phillips now. Steve had filled Bucky in on the S.S.R. and Hydra, and it looked like Phillips had decided Steve was crucial to taking those Nazi freaks down. Bucky couldn't agree more, though he didn't like the idea of Steve going out where people were shooting at him. He'd managed the rescue mission alright, though, and since he'd be going on _sanctioned_ missions now, surely he'd have some sort of backup. He would check on that to make sure, once he was allowed to leave this stupid tent.

He was proud of Steve—he was finally able to do the sort of thing he'd been born to do. It was strange too, though. He wasn't sure what to do with himself anymore—it was like they'd completely switched places, and Bucky was the one who needed protecting now instead of Steve. It was kind of unsettling. He felt stupid being bothered by it.

When Steve was gone, Bucky did talk for a while with Eddie, the S.S.R. medic who'd been working on fixing whatever Hydra had done to him. Eddie had explained what they thought it was that Zola put in him, pointing out that the healing properties of the mysterious compound had actually kept him alive after leaving the camp and were helping take out the pneumonia too, even as they were breaking down. Bucky wasn't sure how he felt about that.

Eddie was kind of cagey about the whole breaking down of the compound. Bucky got the feeling that before Erskine died, Eddie had done more lab work than human interaction, and was really uncomfortable telling Bucky that the stuff still might kill him. Fair enough. The fact that there wasn't anything they could do but wait and see was really gnawing at Bucky's nerves, so he did his best not to think about it. If he concentrated, he could still feel the hot little shards of glass in his blood and the snakes churning in his gut. He tried not to think about that either.

He _was_ starting to feel it less, and he hoped that meant it was breaking down in the good way and not in the way that would kill him.

He took a little hope in the fact that he was starting to feel better, though. He still slept a lot, but he was staying awake longer, and feeling more clear-headed when he did. His breathing was coming easier and his head had stopped pounding.

It was the end of the day when Eddie came by again. Steve had brought some food over from the mess tent and had settled into the chair by the bed for the evening. Bucky had half-heartedly tried to talk him into leaving and sleeping in a real bed. Steve was having none of that. Bucky didn't really mind.

"Oh, good, you're awake," Eddie said, pulling the curtain shut behind him.

"Hey, Eddie," Bucky greeted. He pulled his arm out from under the blanket and rolled up his sleeve. He got that they needed to check his blood all the time to monitor Hydra's crap, but a bruise was starting to form on his arm from the constant parade of needles. "Am I gonna have any blood left by the time you're done?" He supposed he wouldn't have to worry about whatever was in his blood if Eddie took all of it.

"What?" Eddie asked, looking confused. Bucky had tried joking with him a few times. It usually went over his head. "Oh, no, I'm not here for that," he said, shaking his head. "Well, actually, no, I _do_ need another sample before I go," he corrected himself. "But that's not why I came."

"Did you guys figure something out?" Steve asked. His face was calm, but he sounded hopeful and anxious. Bucky looked over at him and then up at Eddie nervously, suddenly afraid to hear the answer.

Eddie smiled. "I've got good news. We're seeing a significant breakdown of the compound in your blood, and, even better, the components are being absorbed into the bloodstream and working their way out of your system."

Bucky was speechless for a moment, taking in Eddie's words and hoping he'd heard them right.

"Really?" Steve asked.

"I'm going to take some more samples to make sure," Eddie said, turning to Bucky. "And once you get to London, you'll need to go in for a full physical, but at the rate it's going, your body should be clear of everything Hydra put into it by the end of the week."

A relieved smile stretched across Bucky's face. "It's really going away?" Eddie nodded. "I'm gonna be okay?"

"You're going to be fine, Sergeant," Eddie said with a smile.

Relieved laughter bubbled up out of his chest and he turned to Steve, beaming. "I'm gonna be okay!" Zola hadn't beaten him after all. He turned back to Eddie, still grinning. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

"Well," Eddie said, shifting awkwardly. "I've actually done very little. But you're welcome."

He started to leave and Bucky sighed. "Wait," he called after him, holding out his arm. "You said you needed more?"

"Oh, right," Eddie said, cheeks coloring a little. He pulled a clean syringe from what had to be a never-ending supply in his lab-coat pocket. "Thank you."

"What'd I tell you?" Steve crowed, still grinning as Eddie left.

"Yeah, yeah, you just know everything, don't you, punk?" Bucky said, rolling down his sleeve with a smile. He knew this had been eating at Steve too. He looked back up, saw two of Steve and blinked, shaking his head a little to clear his vision.

"Dizzy?" Steve asked, nudging him back to lie down.

"A little light-headed," Bucky admitted. His headaches were gone, but between all the blood Eddie kept taking and the general crappiness of being sick, it didn't surprise him. He sighed. "I hate being sick." He looked up at Steve. "I don't know how you did it all the time."

"Practice makes perfect," Steve chuckled. "You're probably light-headed because you haven't eaten."

Steve had a point, but between the worry and the decreasing but ever-present nausea, food had been pretty far from his mind. "I really don't feel like eating," Bucky sighed, his stomach protesting the idea of food.

"Well, you should still try it," Steve said, pulling over the tray he'd brought in and grabbing a sandwich. "You'll feel better faster."

Again, Steve was probably right, but the snakes were starting to wake up again and Bucky put a hand to his stomach and shook his head.

Steve held out the sandwich. "I'll sit on you and make you eat this," he threatened.

Bucky's eyes went wide. "You wouldn't dare," he growled. They really had switched places. He used to threaten Little Steve with that all the time when he'd been sick, although he'd never actually done it.

"Eat the sandwich and I won't have to," Steve replied, a little too gleefully for Bucky's liking. He had to have been waiting years to be able to do this.

"You're a terrible person, Steven Rogers," Bucky grumbled, using his full name to emphasize his displeasure. Steve kept staring at him expectantly, and Bucky wouldn't necessarily put it past him to actually carry out his threat, so he grabbed the sandwich and took a small bite. It took him a while, with several long pauses to stop and breathe slowly and settle his stomach, but he got it down, and it seemed like it decided to stay there.

"See? That wasn't so bad," Steve said. He'd been watching Bucky eat, but had also eaten about fifteen sandwiches of his own.

"Shut up," Bucky said, stifling a yawn. He did, admittedly, feel a little better. He looked up at Steve's smug face. "I'm gonna thump you when I get better."

"Looking forward to it," Steve told him with a smile. "Because you _are_ gonna get better."

"Yeah," Bucky agreed, letting his eyes slide shut. He _was_ going to get better. And he wouldn't be, if Steve hadn't come and saved him. "Thanks, Stevie."

He wasn't sure what he dreamed about this time, but he woke up abruptly in a cold sweat, struggling to breathe and unsure of where he was. Large hands wrapped around his arms, tugging him out of half-asleep panic. "Buck?" a calm voice said. "It's okay, Bucky, you're okay."

He followed the voice and the hands back to Steve, sitting in front of him and failing to hide the concern in his eyes. Oh, yeah, he should probably breathe. It freaked Steve out when he didn't do that. "Steve?" he asked, and the grip on his arms tightened reassuringly, and yeah, okay, this was real and he was safe. He sighed, pulling his arms out of Steve's hands and rubbing his hands down his face. "Sorry," he breathed, feeling his cheeks going red. "I'm sorry." Steve was being great about this, but he just wished his stupid brain would settle down and realize everything was fine now. At least he wasn't crying this time.

"Buck, it's okay," Steve told him.

"I just wish I could get a handle on this," he sighed, flopping back down to his pillow and staring at the ceiling.

"It's been three days," Steve said softly, deep compassion flowing under his words. "No one's expecting you to just be okay all of a sudden. I'm not. Hell, I've had nightmares about what you told me they did to you, and I wasn't even there." Bucky looked up at him. Really? That soft sadness in his friend's eyes told him it was true. "It's okay," Steve assured him again.

Bucky sighed. He knew Steve was right. If their places had been reversed, he would have been saying the same things to Steve. He pushed himself up to sit back against the pillows. Whether this was normal or not, he wasn't in a hurry for more nightmares to show up. Besides, something else had been niggling at his brain. "Hey, Steve?" he asked.

"Yeah?"

"Do you know if…" Bucky started, feeling a little guilty for only bringing it up now. "I should've asked this earlier, but all this stuff with Hydra and my blood and everything put it clean outta my head…Do my folks know I'm okay?" He'd written home not too long before getting captured, but he'd been out of commission for nearly a month now. And if no one had been planning on breaking them out of the prison camp…Had letters of condolence already been sent out? He suddenly realized that his family might think he was dead, and felt sick to his stomach.

The look in Steve's eyes told him that hadn't occurred to him yet either, which made Bucky feel a tiny bit less guilty. "I don't think they knew you were missing yet," Steve said thoughtfully. "Phillips was writing condolence letters the other day, which is when _I_ found out you were missing," he explained, his voice a little tight. Bucky grimaced. That's right, Steve had been afraid he was dead. "But I don't think they got sent anywhere before we came back," Steve finished.

Bucky nodded. That made sense. "That's good. That's good, I wouldn't want them to think I was…" He shook his head. Phillips struck Bucky as a very efficient sort of guy. "Would you, I mean…Would you mind checking?" he asked Steve. Just in case. "Just in case it did get sent? I need to write them anyway, but if a letter telling them I'm dead is going to get there before mine…" Sure, he could correct it in his own letter, but he hated for them to go through that, however briefly.

"Sure," Steve nodded, rising form his chair. Bucky hadn't been going to insist that he do it now, but he was glad he was. "Here." He handed him a notebook and pen he pulled from the bag by his chair. "I'll go and check with Phillips, and you can get started on the letter if you want."

Bucky smiled gratefully. "Thanks, Steve."

Steve left and Bucky sat up a little straighter, propping the notebook on his knees. He chewed on the end of the pen thoughtfully, suddenly unsure of where to begin. _Hey, guys! Sorry I haven't written in a while. I was busy being experimented on by a mad scientist, you know how it is…_ Yeah, that would go over well.

 _Dear Ma, Pop and Becky_ , he started at last. _I know it's been a while since I've written, and I'm sorry. I hope you haven't been too worried about me. My unit was in some pretty heavy combat for a while, and we moved around a lot…_

He really, _really_ didn't want to tell them about the camp. It wasn't that he wanted to lie, but he knew they were worried enough as it was. He sighed, grabbing a sandwich from Steve's plate and nibbling on it thoughtfully. He couldn't _not_ tell them, though. He had to tell them something.

 _You may have read about it in the paper, but my unit hit a pretty rough patch recently._ That was putting it mildly. _We lost some good men, and the rest of us were captured. No matter what you did hear, though, I don't want you to worry—we weren't there long before we were rescued. I'm safe, I'm in one piece, and I'm taking some well-deserved R &R._ Yeah, so, his R&R was happening in a medical tent, but he'd be better by the time they got this. _You should've seen the smoking crater that was left of that place by the time we busted out!_ Maybe some humor would help it not seem so bad.

He thought about mentioning Steve, then decided against it for now. They probably didn't know about giant Steve. That was a longer letter for another time. Once Bucky knew what was going on with that. He wondered if they even knew Steve was over here.

He thought back to the last letter he'd gotten from them, and decided to work his way forward from there. He knew his sister had finally found an opening at a school and was teaching math. He was glad that worked out for her—she'd worked hard enough for that degree, and he didn't like the idea of her waiting tables. He knew the kind of creeps she had to put up with at those all-night places. He asked her how it was all going and told a little story about some cute Italian kids they'd met on a farm they'd passed by a while back. He asked how his dad's work on the car was going—it was his never-ending project, fixing that old thing up. Half the time it didn't run because he'd taken something out to tinker with it. He added the story he'd heard from Dugan about stealing the tank—he figured his dad would appreciate it. For his ma, he assured her again that he was alright, and told her about the cathedral he'd been to last time they'd been in a town, describing the stained glass as best as he could remember. His ma had always loved stained glass.

 _I miss you all,_ he finished. _Take care of yourselves until I get back. I hope I'll get to see you soon. All my love—Bucky._

Steve returned just as he was finishing up. "How's the letter coming?" he asked.

"Just about done," Bucky told him. He swallowed the last of his sandwich, ignoring Steve's smug smirk. "I didn't really go into detail about the labor camp. Do I need to add any sort of explanation, or…?" he trailed off. He figured he'd covered the situation well enough—as long as they hadn't already been told he was dead.

"Phillips never sent the letters," Steve told him. "So, no one thinks you're dead." Well, that was a relief. "Just…" Steve continued. "Maybe not so good at writing letters."

"Very funny," Bucky said sarcastically, folding up the letter. He'd have to ask the nurse about an envelope and a stamp. He sighed. He'd tried to reassure them as best he could with the letter, but…"They haven't heard from me in a month. They may not have been told I'm dead, but they're probably starting to worry."

Steve sat down on the end of his bed. "You're in a war," he said with a sympathetic shrug. "They'd worry even if you sent a letter every day."

Bucky nodded. That was certainly true. "Were they alright when you left?" he asked. They'd been saying things were fine in their letters, but Steve had seen them more recently than he had.

"Yeah," Steve nodded. "I mean, I didn't see them after…all this," he said, gesturing at his newly gigantic body. So, yeah, good call not mentioning Steve in the letter. "But they were all okay. I saw them a few times a week." He smiled. "Your ma kept having me over for dinner and then complaining that I didn't eat as much as you did."

Bucky laughed. His ma had always kept a close eye on Steve since Mrs. Rogers died. If it was up to her, she'd probably feed him three meals a day. "That sounds like her," he chuckled. He cast an eye to the plate he'd nabbed the sandwich from. "If she could see you eat now, though…" He shook his head and Steve grinned. He was glad to hear they were doing okay.

"Hey, so, yesterday," he asked. "Or this morning, or whenever it was that Eddie was in here…" He had no idea what time it was. The tent didn't let in a lot of light. "He said something about London?" He'd mentioned a physical in London, but that was the first Bucky had heard of being shipped out. He'd forgotten about it until now, the relief of knowing he was going to be okay taking precedence.

"Yeah," Steve said. He looked like he thought Bucky should know what he was talking about. Bucky raised an eyebrow for him to continue. "We're going to London at the end of the week."

Okay, yeah, he'd gathered that. "Why?"

"Phillips is meeting with the S.S.R. brass there," Steve explained. "They're working out something for a strike team against Hydra."

Bucky nodded. "So that's why _you're_ going to London." Steve was talking about this like it was old news. Had Bucky fallen asleep while Steve had been telling him about it? He didn't think so. He was getting better at staying awake. "Why am I going?"

"They're sending everyone from the camp out for R&R," Steve said. Thoughtful of them. "Since I'm headed for London anyway, it seemed easier if that's where you went too." Oh. Right. Steve wanted him where he could keep an eye on him. "I'd have to get you there eventually," he finished.

Bucky sighed deeply, looking down at the sheet in his lap. "You don't have to do that, Steve," he said quietly.

"Do what?" Steve sounded genuinely confused.

"I'm getting better," Bucky said. "I can do my R&R wherever, and then I'm good to go back to the front." Most of his unit was back now, and he figured they'd be regrouping before too long. "You don't have to drag me around and babysit me." He knew Steve felt responsible for him, and while he appreciated that, he knew Steve had things to do now. This world of covert army divisions and super-powered Nazis was above Bucky's pay grade. Steve didn't need him slowing him down.

"Babysit you?" Steve repeated, sounding surprised. "No, Bucky, that's not—"

Bucky interrupted him with as much of a smile as he could manage. "I don't need you feeling sorry for me, Steve. You've got your whole thing going now, and you're gonna do great." He really was. Bucky was prouder of him than he could say. But he didn't know how to keep up with this new Steve, didn't know where he fit anymore. He didn't want to hold Steve back, but it hurt a little having to let him go. "I don't wanna be in the way," he insisted. "I've got my unit—I can go back there, and I'll be fine."

"You wouldn't be in the way, Bucky," Steve said. He looked hurt, and Bucky hadn't meant to make him feel bad. "And you're not coming to London because I feel sorry for you," he continued. "I want you to come because I, I need you there."

Bucky couldn't help a small, humorless laugh. Steve was so used to Bucky looking after him, he didn't realize he didn't need that anymore. "No, you don't," he said softly, trying not to sound bitter.

"I don't what?"

Bucky wanted to roll his eyes. Was Steve being purposefully dense? "You don't need me," he said, and that…that didn't feel good, spelling it out. "You've got this, Stevie." And he did. He really did.

"I don't—" Steve sputtered. "Bucky, of _course_ I need you," he insisted.

"For what?" Bucky asked without heat. "This is your show now, man, you don't need me holding you back. You can take care of yourself." He appreciated Steve's loyalty. But he'd come a long way from the little punk who got beat up in back alleys. He was strong, he was smart, and he could lead. Bucky had seen him do it. He gave him a quick smile—he didn't want Steve to think he was mad at him, because he wasn't—then looked down at his hands. He knew Steve didn't need him anymore, but he didn't want to watch him realize it.

Steve was quiet for a long moment. "Bucky," he said at last, his voice soft and sad. "I don't…" He sighed, and when his voice came back, it was sharp and a little bit angry. "Four days ago, I stormed a Nazi weapons factory alone in the middle of the night with a prop shield and a handgun. What the hell do you think I did that for?"

He wasn't quite sure where Steve was going with this. "I'm guessing the four hundred prisoners of war had something to do with it."

"I didn't do it for them," Steve said resolutely. Bucky's eyes snapped up to him in surprise. Doing the right thing was what Steve was all about. "I mean, don't get me wrong," Steve continued. "I'm glad I was able to get them out and they're okay, but…" He met Bucky's eyes. "I went in there for one person."

Shame colored Bucky's cheeks and he looked down again.

"I don't need you because you take care of me when I'm sick or fight off bullies in back alleys," Steve continued softly. "I need you because you're my best friend. Hell," he huffed. "Forget friends, you're my brother. Yeah, maybe I can fight my own fights now, but…" He moved over and put a large, warm hand on Bucky's shoulder. "I'm _always_ gonna need you, Buck."

Bucky kept staring at his lap. He was the world's smallest, pettiest person. Deep down he knew, he _knew_ Steve didn't keep him around just because of what he could do for him. He knew that. Hell, as much as he needed Steve, it didn't really surprise him that Steve felt the same way. It was kind of humbling. But not surprising. Because Steve was right—they'd been brothers since they were six years old. He'd just gotten so caught up in feeling sorry for himself…

He drew in a deep breath and looked up at Steve. Steve's eyes were blazing sincerity, begging Bucky to believe him, and Bucky nodded. "Okay," he said quietly. He'd always believed the little guy. He smiled—a real smile to let Steve know he meant it—then shook his head, a fresh wave of shame coloring his cheeks. "You must think I'm an idiot." He couldn't recall a time he'd felt more stupid.

Steve's hand was still resting on his shoulder, and he squeezed it warmly. "No." That was all he said. That was all he needed to say.

Bucky shook his head again, running his hands slowly through his hair. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't've…" He sighed. He shouldn't've brought it up. He should have sat there and thought about it and realized what an idiot he was being. He really thought he'd gotten his brain around this whole new Steve thing. "Apparently, wrapping my head around this is more work than I thought it would be."

"It's fine," Steve told him sincerely, a warm, encouraging smile on his face. "And, you know, I know it's weird. It took me like a week to stop running into things." Bucky couldn't stop himself from smiling at that mental image. "It still catches me off guard sometimes," Steve said. Gratitude swelled in Bucky's chest as he got what Steve was trying to tell him. It'd taken him, the guy who was living in the giant new body, a while to get used to it. He wasn't expecting Bucky to get his head all around it at once.

"So, however long it takes you to process it, it's fine," Steve said firmly. "Just know that the only thing that's different is that I'm taller now. That's it. You and me? Nothing's changed." Bucky smiled to himself, suddenly not feeling so stupid anymore. Sometimes, he didn't think he deserved a friend like Steve.

"Well," Steve added, and Bucky could hear the smirk in his voice. "That's not entirely true." Bucky looked up at him, wondering where this was going. "I don't think you can toss me over your shoulder and carry me to the clinic anymore."

Surprised, delighted laughter burst out of Bucky's throat. That had been the last thing he'd expected to hear. He smiled broadly, still chuckling. "You didn't talk to me for, what, a week after that?" he asked, smiling at the memory. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

"I was twenty-four years old," Steve said curtly. "And you carried me down the street like a sack of potatoes."

"If you had just gone to the clinic on your own…" Bucky repeated his original argument, smiling at the undignified picture he knew they'd made.

"I was fine," Steve said, repeating his own argument.

Bucky snorted. Between coughing bad enough to hack up a lung and wheezing for every breath he took, the punk had been incomprehensible. "You couldn't make it through a single word without hacking up enough mucus to fill a coffee cup."

Steve's nose wrinkled at Bucky's analogy. "That is disgusting."

" _You_ were disgusting," Bucky retorted, still grinning.

Steve smiled. Bucky knew what he'd been trying to do, and he appreciated it. And, yeah, Steve was right, he really was the same little punk underneath. Bucky realized he'd foolishly been worried that he'd lost that little guy. But he was still here. Like Steve said, he was just taller now. Nothing else had changed.

"So," Steve offered. "You wanna know where the name 'Captain America' came from?"

Bucky grinned and settled back against his pillow, tucking his arms behind his head. This was going to be good.


End file.
